The French Correction
by CNLC0rpses
Summary: When Balthazar zaps Dean and Sam into the parallel universe where their life is a TV-show, Dean finds himself to be in a very serious, very GAY relationship, with a tweet-happy actor, looking exactly like Cas. That may cause some trouble on the way.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The French Correction

**Author:** CNLC0rpse

**Beta:** None, sorry!

**Rating:** M for later chapters

**Genre:** Humor, Romance and Drama I quess.

**Pairing:** Destiel

**Warning:** Bad language, bad humor, and some M/M loving.

**Summary:** When Balthazar zaps Dean and Sam into the parallel universe where their life is a TV-show, Dean finds himself to be in a very serious, very GAY relationship, with a tweet-happy actor, looking exactly like Cas. That may cause some trouble on the way.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own, don't know, never happened, no offense.

**A/N:** My first fanfic in a long time. My first SPN fanfic ever. Please be gentle, though all comeback is appreciated. Read and comment!

Oh, and English is not my native language, so there are bound to be spelling errors, since I don't even have a beta. : (

But, back to the fic... Set in place during the episode The French Mistake. My version of that. (8 Enjoy.

**Chapter 1.**

"Dude, would you just turn that off! It's driving me nuts!" Sam cried out, when the annoyingly sharp and loud ring tone pierced through the comfortable silence of the big and fancy study room for the sixth time.

"I think that's your phone, Mr. Padalecki," Dean replied, not lifting his gaze from the computer screen, surfing through some ridiculous fansite of the ridiculous TV-show, Supernatural, trying to make this whole mess to make a little more sense. Too bad it just didn't.

Apparently here, Sam was some bigshot moviestar, with a horrible lastname, married happily to a fake-Ruby and they lived in a huge mansion, were filthy rich and had a goddamn camel in their backyard. In Canada. This all made Dean's head hurt so much, he didn't even dare to read what the fansites had say about his-parallel-dimension-self.

Dean glanced at the clock on the computer screen. Fifteen minutes to midnight. He sighed and turned the damn thing off. He really needed some sleep after all this insanity. For this really fell under that category, even in Dean's life. Not everyday even he got stuck in a screwed up dimension like this.

Dean got off the fancy, padded and mahogany chair to throw himself on the comfortable and expensive looking leather couch where he landed with a sigh of content, ready to get some shut-eye.

Only he should've known, he wasn't lucky enough for that.

Sam had finally located the persistently ringing phone, and was now staring at the small flashing screen with a frown.

"Misha... That's fake-Cas, right? Why's he calling me?"

"How the hell should I know? Answer him," Dean instructed, putting his hands behind his head and shifting on the couch to get more comfortable. Sam looked unsure, before pressing the small green button on the phone.

"Uhm... Hello?"

"Jared! Thank fuck, you finally answered! I've been calling you for like hundred times now! Is he there with you!" Misha yelled at the other end so loud, that even Dean could hear him as clear as if he had been standing in the same room with them.

"Is who here?" Sam asked, confused.

"Well, the freaking prop-guy I so desperately want to speak with! Who do you think! Is Jensen there?" Misha was hysteric and sounded a little more than just a little angry. And Sam looked a little scared. Dean would've laughed at this, if he hadn't realized that by searching Jensen, Misha was really after him. And when ever somebody sounding like that was looking for you, it was never a good thing.

Dean shot up from the couch, trying to signal to Sam with waving arms and angry faces to not give up his location, but of course the Sasquatch had to go and rat him out.

"Uhm, yeah, he's here...?"

Dean felt like slapping his brother.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," was all that Misha shouted, before he hung up the phone.

Sam was left with a dumbfounded look on his face to stare at his own phone.

"Well... That was weird. Why do you suppose he's looking for you?" Sam asked, lifting his gaze from the phone to Dean, who was standing threateningly close to him, looking kind of angry himself.

"I don't know, but why the hell did you have to go and tell him where I am? Didn't you hear what he sounded like? The dude's so pissed off, I've probably banged his wife or something! And after all the crap I've put up with today, I would've really appreciated not getting punched on the top of this all!" Dean shouted, letting himself fall back on the couch, glaring angrily at Sam, who had that kicked puppy-look on him, trying to crouch behind his computer.

Letting his brother vent out his frustration and anger, Sam peeked from behind his laptop, looking thoughtfully at Dean.

"I don't know Dean... I don't think he sounded that mad. I think he sounded more like... worried."

Dean just huffed, rolling his eyes.

Fifteen minutes later they both were startled by the loud and violent knocking from the front door. Dean jumped up, all tensed and ready to hide if he was about to get attacked by the pissed off Cas-look-a-like, whilst Sam got up from his seat and headed down the hallway to get the door. Dean could hear the muffled and short conversation between Sam and the Misha-guy, which was probably consisted only by polite 'hellos' and an angry, shouted demand of;"Where the hell is he!"

followed by ominous footsteps to the study. Dean swallowed hard.

For a moment he was completely thrown off by what he saw. Misha appeared to the doorway, looking as pissed as Cas had back then when he had kicked Dean's ass on that alley when Dean had been about to give in to Michael, but that was not what had Dean stunned. It was the fact that this guy, in the body that Dean had become to recognize as Castiel, (even if the body really did belong to one Jimmy Novak) was not wearing a suit and a trench coat. He was wearing some normal blue jeans, black button-up shirt, and Converse-tennis shoes. No suit. No trench coat.

It was like looking at a bald Sam.

But Dean was abruptly waken from his thoughts by an angry shout.

"Not to sound like your fucking mom, but where the hell have you been! I looked for you all over the sets, and nobody knew where you had vanished off to, and why the fuck you don't answer your phone!" Misha took few steps closer to Dean, looking positively pissed. Dean was just confused. Why had this guy been so keen on finding him? Dean glanced over Misha's shoulder to Sam, who stood in the hallway, observing the scene in front of him. Dean tried to get some help form him, but his brother just shrugged, just as baffled as he was.

"Yeah, right... my phone... I don't really know, where it is and... for the vanishing I'm... sorry? I just came over here with..." Dean pleaded help from Sam with his eyes and Sam mouthed him silently his fake name. "Jared! To practice some acting... stuff. You know?" Dean offered carefully, hoping to cover what ever he had done wrong. Misha's piercing blue eyes drilled their gaze into Dean's green ones and for a moment his breath stuck to his throat.

"Practice acting stuff? At the middle of the night? With Jared?" Misha asked, not buying Dean's feeble excuses. Dean drew in a sharp gasp of breath, trying feverishly to come up with something, and to avoid Misha's gaze. It was something in that man's eyes, that made him feel weird. Almost vulnerable. Dean shook his head slightly, trying to clear it.

"You see, it's...-"

"Are you upset with me or something, Jensen?"

Dean's eyes shot up, and locked back to the gaze with Misha's. But his time, Dean saw a twinge of something in the other man's eyes. Something that could maybe be... hurt? Dean wasn't sure, since Misha's still angry voice wasn't giving away anything, but still that small twinge in the crystal blue eyes made the insides of Dean grow cold. It was freaky. Dean didn't like it.

"Upset? With you? No, no, of course not, why would I be?" Dean quickly dismissed it, waving his hand nonchalantly, attempting something like a casual smile. Misha tilted his head. In a very like way Castiel always did, when he didn't quite understand something.

"Well let's see, you were acting all freaky earlier today, you don't answer my calls, you disappeared somewhere in the middle of the day, and I finally find you at _Jared's place, _in the middle of the night," Misha said, annoyed, spreading out his arms.

Dean glanced at Sam again, raising his eyebrow. What the hell did it matter to this guy what he did? Again, Sam just shrugged, looking as lost with the situation as before. Dean rolled his eyes. Sam was always such a great help.

"It's got nothing to do with you, I swear. I'm just having... a really bad week at work," Dean said to Misha, forcing a fake smile on his face. Misha stared at him for a while, before his angry face finally softened into a small smile. It was even more shocking than the absence of the trench coat. With the few past years Cas had started to smile, or at least he had developed a face that could be interpret as a smile, but this, a real heartwarming smile, on Cas' usually so stoic face... A warm _something_ spread in Dean's stomach. He shook his head again. This, seeing and being able to read emotions of "Cas'" face was really messing with his mind...

"Really?" Dean heard Misha ask, and he could honest to God _hear_ the smile and the relief in his voice.

"Yeah, really," Dean answered, and felt a real smile spread on his face as well.

"Okay then, let's go home."

With this sentence, warning bells went off in Dean's head and he felt the smile die on his lips.

"Home?" he heard himself stutter.

"Yes, home, Jensen. I'd really like to go and get some sleep before we have to be back on the set by 7 am," Misha said, gesturing towards the door, as a signal to Dean, that they should go. And Dean just couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"So... I live with you?"

Misha let out a small laugh. His teeth were bared and the corners of his eyes wrinkled as he did so. It was strange. Dean had never seen that look on that face. He kind of liked it.

"Yees, you've lived with me for almost three years now. You guys been drinking much tonight?" Misha asked, laughter in his voice, turning to look at Sam with an raised eyebrow. Sam just shook his head, but Dean noticed the look he had on his face. The look that told Dean that Sam was figuring something out. Dean could practically hear the merciless thinking going on inside Sam's head. Dean frowned. Had he missed something?

Misha turned back to look at Dean, obviously waiting for him to start moving towards the door.

So Dean did. Only that when he reached Misha and Sam who were standing by the study room's door, Misha also reached forward, grabbing Dean by his forearm, and kissing him straight on the lips. It was only a quick peck, lasted no more than a second, but it had Dean rooted on the spot. He felt his heart stop beating for a moment, and his blood was turning into ice cubes in his veins.

Oh hell no...

Misha pulled back and smiled at him.

"It's just... Jens, if you're having a bad day, please for the love of fuck, talk to me about it, you know how paranoid I can get. Besides, that's why I'm here for."

_You got to be kidding me..._

He was dating fake-Cas!

Misha squeezed Dean's arm gently, before turning to Sam.

"Thanks Jared, and sorry for all this. We'll go now. See you tomorrow."

And with those words Misha started walking down the hallway, _still_ keeping the hold he had on Dean's arm, practically dragging the petrified hunter after him.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, cursing every higher being he knew that existed. He knew he had made a few enemies during his life but come on! This was just the universe literally, royally screwing him in the ass! What had he ever done to deserve this?

And then he heard the muffled laughter behind his back, coming from Sam.

Christ... he was never living this down.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **A bit longer than the last chapter.

**Chap 2.**

Dean's head was running hundred miles per minute. It was like he was in a nightmare and couldn't wake up. He had been forced into this messed up universe where he wasn't who he really was, and his real life had been twisted into this ridiculous TV-show. And the worst of it all; he was in a steady gay relationship. With Cas. Well, not so much with Cas, but with this guy, Misha, who just happened to look exactly like Cas. Dean stared terrified, at Misha's neck, as he walked few steps behind the fake-angel down the driveway, away from fake-Sam's mansion. They were headed "home". Where they most likely would be sharing a bed. Like most couples do. Dean felt his stomach turn. The mere idea of... doing the nasty with this Misha-guy who so inconveniently was wearing Cas' face, had Dean running off, screaming, to the closest bar to pick up as many girls as he just possibly could. So he tried not to think about it.

They finally reached the street, and were now standing in front of a this hurriedly parked, box like dark silver Toyota. Which Dean automatically labeled as a "Mom-car". He frowned.

"Dude, really? This is what you drive?" Somehow he just couldn't see Cas', or the Cas-look-a-like rolling around in a goddamn Toyota. Misha gave him an strange look before answering;

"No, this is what you drive, Jens, this is your car. But given how many beers you have obviously downed tonight, I'll drive us home."

Dean stared at the ugly little car, while Misha unlocked the doors, and climbed into the driver's seat. His nightmare was getting worse and worse by the second. Grieving, Dean too got into the car, slamming the door shut too hard on purpose. Misha turned the engine on, and started to drive away from Sam's place.

"Really? This? My car?" Dean couldn't let it go. He couldn't understand it, how someone, supposedly him, but just in another dimension could be so completely different from him. Have such a completely different taste in cars and in women. Well, not to have taste at all for women...

Dean felt somewhat betrayed.

"Would you quit the whining, I told you the Impala won't be shipped until next weekend!" Misha snapped at Dean, who was suddenly very intrigued.

"Impala?" he asked, trying not to get his hopes up. Misha rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed, by the way "Jensen", was behaving.

"YES! The Impala! The exact replica of the one Dean drives in the show, that I ordered for you three months ago, for your birthday! God, how drunk are you?" Misha turned to throw a half worried half pissed-off glance at Dean, who lowered his gaze, trying to remind himself to be more careful. But it was just too weird not to be asking all the questions. Like just now, when Misha had just casually thrown the word 'God' in his speech. Cas would have never used his Father's name in vain like that. And it was weird how Dean picked up on little things like that... This all was just messing with his head. This universe was definitely bad-touching him.

"I'm not drunk," Dean mumbled quietly, staring out the window. Misha stopped for a red light. Dean felt a hand on his thigh. It squeezed softly, reassuringly. Dean felt the little hairs in the back of his neck rise up at the touch. But he couldn't quite figure out if it was because he found the touch so unpleasant or... nice.

Dean turned to look Misha, who now had a completely worried look on his face.

"Jens, you sure, you're alright?" The gaze of the blue orbs were so intense, that Dean felt powerless to look away.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Like I said, just a bad... workweek," was all he was able to say.

Until he realized that Misha was leaning in, over the gearstick and handbrake, to kiss Dean again. Dean's brain locked itself, unable to process anything else besides the panic caused by the rapidly nearing man. And so he braced himself to relive the feeling of being kissed by a man. Being kissed by Cas...

A horrible noise of a car horn honking rippled through the tension in the car, startling Misha to lean back, and realize that the light had changed and to keep on driving, smiling apologetic smile to Dean, who was sitting so rigidly and tensed up on his own seat, that it was like he had the stick up his ass this time. The rest of the way went in silence, with Dean trying desperately to unlock the jam in his brains.

In few minutes, Dean saw them rolling onto the driveway of a small suburban house. He hadn't really been expecting anything but... this was so not what he had expected. It was a small, white normal house with a bit of a decayed tin roof, in the middle of the suburbia, with the white picket fences and all. It looked... nice. But then again, it was nothing compared to what fake-Sam had. Was Sam really the star of this show? Because Dean was ready to bet that he didn't have a solarium in his hallway or an alpaca out in the backyard like Sam did. But then again, Sam was married to fake-Ruby, and Dean was dating fake-Cas so... It just so seemed that this universe was really hating Dean.

Misha had apparently seen the way Dean was staring at the small house, because he turned off the engine and let out a small laugh when he got out of the car.

"I can't wait to finish up the shooting, so we can finally get back to the States and to our real home," he said casually, starting to walk towards the front door of the little house. Dean, left with no options, followed after.

Well, at least the situation was somewhat improving itself. So he was actually living in America. This was just some temporary home while filming the show, and in few days, he'd get his baby back. Or at least an exact replica of it. But then again, was he planning on staying here for that long? Well, right now he had no idea how to zap him and Sam back home, so he was stuck with this reality for now. Misha unlocked the door and led Dean inside the house. It had a narrow hallway, leading into a this sort of combined kitchen and livingroom. And at the back of the livingroom was a door, supposedly to a bedroom. Dean had shivers running down his spine.

"Are you hungry Jens? Or did you eat at Jared's?" Misha asked, kicking off his shoes, and walking towards the kitchen. Dean stood rigid at the doorway, watching Misha casually bustle around the small room, pulling out two beers from the fridge. Yes! That was the answer! Alcohol! Dean took few unsure steps into the kitchen.

"Umm, no, I'm not hungry," he said, reaching for the bottle Misha was offering to him. Dean popped the cap, and downed the whole bottle with two gulps, setting the bottle down on the counter. Misha raised his eyebrows at him.

"Seriously, man, what's up with you today? You seem so nervous all the time," Misha frowned at him. Dean just shook his head, wondering if he'd dare to ask for another beer, when Misha stepped closer to him. And Dean could smell him. That distant scent of ocean, forest and candle wax... and that something that in Dean's own world was probably left overs from Jimmy's cologne. Misha smelled exactly like Cas. And that stirred something dangerously inside Dean. Something he greatly hoped was just homesickness.

"Look at you dude, you're all tense!" Misha exclaimed, reaching out his free hand, the one not holding his beer bottle, to rub Dean's shoulder. It actually felt kind of good.

"I'm just tired, you know," Dean mumbled, definitely _not_ leaning into the soothing touch. Misha smiled at him, retrieving his hand.

"Come," he gestured to Dean follow after him, into the livingroom, where he sat down on the puffy looking blue couch, setting his beer down on a glass coffee table.

"Sit," Misha commanded, gesturing the floor in front of him. Again, Dean felt the little hairs at the back of his neck rise with the awkward realization.

"You know what? I'm good, I think-" Dean started to ramble when Misha cut him off.

"Come on Jensen! I am actually for once, offering to do this. Just stop the bitching and roll with it." Misha smiled. He did that a lot. Dean could get used to it. So stiffly, he inched closer to the Cas-look-a-like, sitting down in front of him onto the floor. Misha's knees were on the both sides of his shoulders, holding him in place gently. Dean let his head fall forward trying so hard to not to think what part of Misha's body was drastically close to his neck. But all thoughts of discomfort and panic fled his body, when Misha started to massage the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. It felt heavenly.

It didn't even seem to bother him that much, how well Misha, how well this _dude _knew his way around Dean's aching body. He just let himself melt into the touch.

He literally felt the stress and the strain of having to sit in a car for hours per day, or being crouched down in a bad angle over a boring book for what felt like ages, slowly drift away from him.

If being in a steady relationship was like this, Dean could learn to enjoy it. Until he heard Misha's voice again, which was like a bucket of cold water to Dean. He had already kind of forgotten who it was massaging him. Hey, the dude had slim and feminine hands.

"Take off your shirt," Misha said, voice low. Dean's eyes shot open. He hadn't even realized they were closed. He felt nervous again.

"Umm, no thank you, I'm quite comfortable as it is..." he said, trying to slip away from under Misha's hands, but the other man just chuckled.

"Just take it off, so I can get to your back more easily."

And with that, Dean felt the slender fingers reach for the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it gently up. Dean thought for a moment to put up a fight but then it was already too late, and he had been stripped of his shirt. Misha threw it somewhere behind the couch and laid his hands back on Dean's shoulders, letting them wander lower, rubbing and caressing Dean's back.

It took Dean a long time to admit it, and he still hated himself for it just a little bit, but he let a small moan of pleasure escape his lips. It felt good. It really did. And not just the massaging, but the feeling of someone else (not Sammy), being voluntarily that close to him, doing this just because they wanted it. And again, as if it was becoming a tradition, just when Dean was about to get used to this weird sign of affection showed to him by a dude, he felt Misha crouch down behind him, and a pair of thin, soft lips ghost over his neck. And again the realization of the lips belonging to a Cas looking like dude, hit him like ton of weight. Dean shifted slightly and cleared his throat, thinking about escaping when he heard the three little words from Misha every little boy dreams to hear.

"I love you," he whispered, kissing Dean's shoulder softly. Dean could feel the scratchy stubble against his skin. Okay, he was officially totally freaking out. Dean let out a small incoherent sound, not really sure what he wanted, or should have said. It was weird, hearing a man say that to him. A man, who sounded a lot like Cas. But then again, the words weren't really meant for him... That thought caused a small and quick stab of pain somewhere in the back of Dean's mind. So far back, he didn't even recognize it.

"Let's go to bed," Misha whispered, voice heavy, standing up, holding an expecting hand out to Dean. Okay, scratch that, _now_ he was freaking out. Dean jumped up, not taking Misha's hand, not meeting his gaze.

"Umm yeah, sure, sure... why don't you... go head, I'll... I'll follow... right behind, there's this... Thing! That... I gotta do..." Dean stuttered, taking few steps back, looking probably a lot like a deer caught in headlights. Misha just smiled softly, either ignoring or not noticing Dean's jumpiness. He nodded and turned, walking to the bedroom. At the door, he called over his shoulder;

"Just hurry up dude!"

Okay. So now Dean had exited the calming realm of 'freaking out' and entering the terrifying realm of 'scared to shitless'. There was no way in hell, or heaven, that Dean was sleeping with a dude! With fake-Cas! When he saw Misha disappear into the bedroom Dean was on the move. He stormed to the kitchen, trying to think. Trying to get his heart to stop pounding against his ribcage so hard, that he could hear it. What was he going to do! Dean glanced furiously around himself, trying to come up with something. Before his eyes fell on a cellphone on the kitchen counter. It must be fake his. Sam! He'd call Sam for help.

After scrolling through his contacts-list, calling some wrong Sam twice, he remembered that here, Sam was Jared. And in his phone, the only Jared he had there had a frowning face after it. Man, they really must hate each other here. And Dean dialed. After a tormentingly long time Sam finally picked up.

"Dean?" his voice was tired and careful. Dean nearly sighed out of relief.

"Sammy! I'm in trouble!" he hissed, trying to keep his voice down, preventing Misha from over hearing the conversation.

"What? What's going on?" Sam was on full alert, all tiredness gone from his voice. Dean swallowed, suddenly unsure of how he was going to tell Sam what was going on.

"Well... I find myself in a very... difficult situation."

"What situation, Dean what is happening?"

"Uhm..." Dean cleared his throat, pacing around the kitchen nervously. There was no way out of this. No way putting this graciously, and being able to remain some speck of self esteem. He had to just come out with it, and deal with any teasing Sam might throw in his direction for it.

"I think... I think this Misha guy wants... you know."

Okay, he maybe could've phrased it better, but somehow when he had to say it, his tongue felt three times bigger than normal. He just couldn't say it.

"No, I don't know. Dude, just tell me what the hell is going on!" Sam was getting annoyed. Dean sighed. Here goes nothing.

"He wants to have _sex_!" Dean hissed with a voice dripping ice. The phone line went dead silent for almost a whole minute.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"So... What are you expecting me to do about it?" Sam asked finally unsure. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I don't know man, help me out here! What am I supposed to do?"

"Jensen? You coming?" Dean heard Misha's voice from behind him. He spinned around, to stare at Castiel's naked chest. Well not really Castiel's, but still. Misha stood there, leaning on the bedroom door, without a shirt, and his pajama pants hanging dangerously low on his narrow hips. Dean had swallowed his own tongue and was currently trying to cough it back up to his mouth.

"Yeah, just a second... Misha," Dean finally stammered, voice almost an octave higher than normal.

"Hurry up," Misha whined, impatient, slipping back to the bedroom. Dean let out a wavering breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding back.

"Dude, you gotta help me, he's taken his shirt off! He's waiting for me in the freaking bedroom!" Dean yelped desperately to the phone. He was sure he could hear Sam try to stifle a laugh on the other end.

"I'm sorry man, but as I see it, you only got like... three options," Sam finally said, and Dean was more than eager to hear them, since he had come up with none.

"Well firstly, you could go in there and tell him you want to break up with him. That way you'd erase your whole problem," Sam stated matter of factly. Dean thought of it for a second, before his eyes laid on a picture taped on the fridge door. He hadn't noticed it before. It had him, or well, Jensen and Misha on it. They were standing by some small lake. Jensen had a some sort of fishing gear in hand, and he looked excited. Misha was standing next to him, smiling at his enthusiasm. They were just casually holding hands. It was your typical, cheesy couple photo, probably taken from some trip Jensen and Misha had taken together but something stroke at Dean whilst looking at the picture. Both of them, him, well Jensen and Misha, looked... happy. Dean sighed.

"No, don't think I can do that."

"Why?" Sam sounded surprised.

"Cause. I'm just borrowing this guy's life here Sammy. When we get back home he'll be zapped back here, and it's none of my business to go mess with his life and break up with his boyfriend. They're happy together Sammy. I don't wanna screw that up for them," Dean explained quietly, gently touching at 'his' smiling face on the photo, feeling a lot less scared, or freaked out than he had been a mere minute ago.

"Yeah, you're probably right... Well, then my next best suggestion is, that you just go in there, suck it up, and do it. Or well... you know. Him."

Sam's voice was neutral, it didn't give away anything, but Dean could still _feel_ the hidden laughter in Sam's voice.

"Not actually a big fan of that option either Sammy!" Dean's voice was getting angrier.

"I don't really see why Dean, it's just sex. You've done it before, as I recall. Besides you like sex, so what's the big deal?"

Dean felt like banging his head against the wall. Or Sammy's.

"What's the big deal! What's the..! Just forget it, it's not happening, no way! Give me my last option."

"Well, the last one is that you go in there and kill him, cause I'm really out of ideas," Sam said with an apologetic but joking voice. Dean sighed, frustrated.

"Yeah, thanks Sammy, you're always such a great little helper," he spat out bitterly, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Look, I don't know what you should do, I've never been in that kind of situation! Tell him your head hurts or something," Sam tried, but Dean just hung up on him, throwing the phone violently on the kitchen counter, like this whole thing was its fault.

"Useless," Dean hissed into the empty, dark kitchen. He bit his lower lip and cursed softly. He was now officially out of options, so Dean guessed he had to go in there, and go with the feeble headache-plan.

His legs felt like they were made out of lead, when he began his walk of shame towards the bedroom. He reached the door, cracked it slightly open, and peeked inside.

_Please be asleep, please be asleep, please be asleep..._

Misha wasn't asleep. The bedroom was dark, but Dean could still see him laying on his back, arms pulled under his head, staring at the ceiling on a kingsized bed. The room was relatively small, it only had a tall wardrobe, a desk, and the big bed under a black curtained window. On the wall opposite of Dean was a door, probably to the bathroom.

Misha hadn't noticed Dean crouching at the doorway so he just laid there, covers pulled up to his waist leaving his upper body completely bare. Dean hadn't ever really imagined what Cas would look like naked, but seeing this, he could really think this was what Cas would've looked like. Lean but well muscled body. Not all pumped like Sam's or his but enough to reveal the fact that he had some hidden strength in him. Dean suddenly realized that he was staring at Misha. He averted his eyes quickly, blushing and clearing his throat nervously. That caught up Misha's attention.

Great.

"Oh, you got off the phone finally. Who'd you call anyway?" Misha asked, smiling again. He sat up slowly, staring Dean right into his eyes. For a moment, Dean forgot how to speak.

"Umm... Sa-I mean, Jared. Just Jared. About some... Work stuff," Dean mumbled. Stepping fully inside the bedroom, closing the door after him. He was at loss, what to do next, so he just stood there.

"Jared?" Misha frowned.

"Really Jens, what's going on? You're sort of freaking me out. I mean... You and Jared haven't even really spoken to each other in two years, and now all of a sudden your bff's?"

He had that worried look on his face again. Dean didn't like that look.

"It's no big deal, we're just... getting along again, I guess," Dean mumbled. Stiffly inching closer to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. Misha huffed quietly, crawling up behind Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean's bare shoulders. Misha's naked chest was pressed against Dean's naked back. Skin to skin contact. For a moment Dean was on a brink of panic again, until he thought, screw it, he was too tired to deal with this crap right now. He let himself relax into the touch. And it felt kind of nice. Misha laid his forehead on the back of Dean's neck, and Dean could feel the hot breathing of the other man on his shoulders. It brought out the goose bumps on his skin. Misha hummed softly into Dean's neck and the only thought that pierced through his mind was that somehow, they fitted perfectly like this. And it freaked Dean out so little, that it actually freaked him out a great deal. It was really confusing.

"Well I guess that's a good thing then," Misha whispered. And then he kissed the back of Dean's neck softly. And no matter how comfortable, how weirdly safe Dean felt in the arms of this fake-Cas, surrounded by the scent of the real-Cas, a dude gently kissing his neck, was totally crossing the line.

He was about to say something, or to pull away from the embrace, he didn't really know, when Misha suddenly pulled him to lay down on the bed with him. Misha still had his both arms wrapped around Dean, but now, he hooked his other leg over Dean's both legs, practically folding himself around Dean. Misha had his face buried in Dean's neck, and he was softly kissing down on it.

Later Dean confessed, that if it hadn't been for the sharp scraping of Misha's stubble against his skin, he might have not said anything.

"Look, Misha, I'm really tired and it's getting late... Could we just... go to sleep?" Dean forced out quickly, stroking on a reflex, in a apologetic way, Misha's arm. Misha lifted his head, looking at Dean, smiling that soft smile of his, which made the corners of his eyes wrinkle, and nodded. For a second, Misha let go of Dean, to pull up the covers over them, before he wrapped himself around Dean again with a sigh of content.

"Goodnight Jens," Misha whispered with a low growling voice, that sounded almost exactly like Cas'. Shivers ran down Dean's spine.

"Yeah, night, Mish," the newly discovered nickname just rolled off Dean's lips before he even got to think about it. He felt Misha shift against him to find a better position. He was so close. Their bodies were practically touching from the toes to cheeks. And it wasn't as uncomfortable as Dean had thought. Actually, after few minutes of adjusting, Dean shifted his own arm, to wrap it around Misha's shoulders for a better angle and preventing the arm from falling asleep under the weight of the fake-Cas. And the weird thing was, it wasn't awkward at all. Misha fit perfectly to his side. Like he was made to be there. The man had already fallen asleep, breathing steadily against Dean's side, and Dean realized that his own chest was rising and falling in sync with Misha's. It was somewhat... comforting. It had been long, since Dean had been this close to anyone. And he meant that. Just close. No sex or anything. Just... this. Laying there, feeling totally and utterly safe and relaxed by the others touch and presence. And Dean had to admit, he enjoyed this feeling. It was not often he get to experience it. Actually, now that he looked back on it, never had he felt it this strongly. That may have freaked him out, but the steady feeling of Misha's breath on his skin lulled him to sleep before he got the chance to flip out.

**TBC**

**Read and comment! (8**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Took me some time to get this out. Somehow I liked the second chapter so much, it was hard to start writing again. This one just didn't turn out the way I wanted. : / Plus, I was so wrecked that Cas got killed off in last episode of the seventh season, that I just didn't really feel like writing.

Well, the fourth chapter is almost done, I just gotta rewrite the ending of it. I probably will be posting it later today, or tomorrow.

_Comments help me through the fact that the bastards killed Castiel in the seventh season!_**  
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**Chapter 3.**

Dean woke up to a pleasant feeling. Or actually he wasn't sure if he had really woken up, in which case he wanted to stay asleep for a little while longer. He felt a hot, wet breath ghost over his abdomen, and long slender fingers caress the insides of his naked thighs. He also felt the effect these allusive, tender touches had on him. He groaned softly at the pleasant tingling pooling in his groin.

And then Dean's breathing hitched in his throat, as he felt the world's most perfect pair of soft lips close around the head of his dick.

A wet tongue circled around the head, and Dean had to bit his lip not to scream. Oh man, it had been a too long time since he had gotten any real action so this was feeling _very_ good. He felt the mouth swallow him whole, and teeth scrape softly, carefully along the shaft. Dean let out a small gasp and fisted his hands in the sheets beneath him. This was officially the best damn dream he had ever had.

Soft hands massaged gently Dean's thighs, thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin of the base of his dick, creating delicious pressure. The tongue worked it's magic around his now painfully hard member. Dean was ready to confess before God, that this was also the best blowjob he had ever had. His eyes fluttered open, with a long, low moan that ripped itself out of his body. And then he realized he was not sleeping.

What the hell?

There was a second when Dean couldn't remember a thing about yesterday, his brain only flowing with this amazing pleasure caused by the incredible blowjob. Dean stared at the ceiling panting, feeling himself almost reach the edge.

When it all came rushing back to him.

Balthazar. Virgil. Swapping dimensions. His life being a TV-show. Misha...

_Misha._

Oh God, please, no!

Dean shot into a sitting position, feeling his brain melt down and his heart jump up, and the two meet half way through, in his throat and form a huge lump that he almost choke on. And he found himself staring right in the lust darkened eyes of Misha, who had his swollen lips wrapped around Dean's dick. The smaller man stared right back at him, moaning around Dean's twitching cock. Dean felt the vibrations of Misha's throat, and the horrifying consequence of it.

Because of course, to mess it all more up, that was the precise moment that Dean came.

Letting out a low groan of pleasure, fear, embarrassment, confusion and so many more emotions, Dean let his head fall back, feeling Misha eagerly suck him dry, and swallow every drop.

Dean couldn't get his brain to work. He just simply couldn't wrap his mind around it. He was so stunned, he wasn't even able to freak out anymore. He had just had the most intense, most mind blowing blowjob of his life, by a dude. By a dude, who looked, sounded and smelled almost exactly like Cas. This was so far out there, so wrong in so many ways that Dean just wasn't able to comprehend it anymore. This kind of stuff didn't just happen! Not even to him.

Misha finally lifted up his head, smiling at Dean, with his red and swollen lips. He propped himself up on his elbows, still laying between Dean's legs.

"Mornin', Jensen," he said lazily, voice husky and eyes still dark. Dean could really _actually _feel his own heartbeat pulsing in his body, beating against his the inside of his chest.

"Hey, I know I'm awesome but come on, you're making me blush," Misha joked, kissing softly Dean's thigh, mistaking his shock as a powerful aftershake of his orgasm. Dean felt the scrape of Misha's stubble against his bare skin. Strange. It didn't bother him as much as it did last night. Or it just might be, that after getting blown by the guy, some hairy face pressed against his leg wasn't that much of a problem to him anymore. He was just thankful that Misha didn't reach up to kiss him on the lips. Dean would have to amputate his face if that were to happen.

Sweat was starting to form on Dean brow and he let out a long shuddering breath he had been holding in for too long, so apparently his brain was starting to function again, and he was slowly but surely freaking out. Good for him.

Dean just stared, face blank, at the slender man laying in front of him, between his freaking legs, just smiling blissfully up at him. And suddenly Dean realized that he wasn't that much freaked out, as he was ashamed and embarrassed. For what he had done and with _who_. He should not have done that. Every fiber in his body screamed how wrong that had been. But why then, when he gazed down into Misha's darkened blue eyes, so much like Cas', he felt a scary shudder of good-feeling travel slowly through his body? And that was what he felt so ashamed and scared for.

But on the other hand, he had been unconscious for most of the process, so this couldn't really be held against him, right? _Right?_

It was all too confusing. Dean felt like slapping himself until things started to make sense again. But then again he had pretty much used up all the weirdness he could afford yesterday, when he kept flipping out over everything, so for the sake of this Misha-guy, Dean kept himself from abusing himself.

"I thought you could need a nice wake up. Since you're having that bad workweek and all," Misha finally said, grinning at Dean.

"You better go get a shower. You stink of sex. I'm gonna go make some coffee," he continued, slipping out of the bed.

_Oh dear lord._

He was naked. When the hell did that happen! ? And now that Dean thought about it, he had gone to sleep in his jeans too. Where had those gone? ! It seemed that this Misha dude was one sneaky little bastard. Dean would have to watch out for himself. He could NOT let this happen again. It was traumatizing enough to have it happen once.

...

"Jensen!"

"Huh?" Dean jerked on his seat, in the box like Toyota. They were driving back to the filming studio, or 'work', as Misha had called it, and Dean had let the other man drive again, seeing as he had no idea where the hell he was supposed to go, so he was just sitting on the shotgun, staring out of the window. He had been spacing out like that the whole morning, mind completely blank. He had found it easier to block the horrifying images of the so called 'wake-up call' that way, and remain with some amount of sanity. But not much though.

Dean was staring at Misha, who had apparently been talking to him for good ten minutes now, without Dean hearing a word of it. The man was looking relatively annoyed. And Dean most likely just looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Did you just not listen to me at all?" Misha snapped. Dean found himself unable to stop staring at Misha's lips. He had to fight with all he had left, not to let the images of the morning to pop up in his head.

"Umm... Sorry," he mumbled quickly, and Misha sighed.

"I just said that I don't think we have any scenes together today, since I have to go do the pick-up shots with Mark, so I was thinking we could meet up on the lunchbreak. Go get something to eat together," he explained, pulling over to the studio's parking lot, and turning down the engine. Dean raked through his brain, but couldn't come up with any excuse to weasel out of having lunch with the guy. What was happening to him? He was the master of excuses! Dean shook his head slightly, before turning his gaze back to waiting Misha.

"Yeah, sure, okay," Dean answered, evasively. Misha's face lit up with a pleased smile as he nodded and got out of the car. Dean sighed. This was going to be a long day.

Dean got out too, glancing around, not really sure where to go. Well first thing, he had to find Sam. Misha walked around the car to stand in front of Dean. A bit too close for Dean's liking, and he was almost about to have another talk with the man about personal space, until Dean remembered, that he had not have any talks about personal space with Misha. And all of a sudden, Dean realized that he missed Cas. And that should have been weird to him, but given all that had happened in the past 24 hours, that didn't even spook him. Misha stood there smiling, trapping Dean between the car and himself and looked like he was about to say something, before he squinted his eyes, looking somewhere over Dean's shoulder.

"Is... is that Jared?" he asked, sounding a bit amused. Dean frowned. Jared? Jared. Sam!

He spun around in the small space that Misha had allowed him to have, trying to see what Misha had seen. And he saw Sam, standing in this narrow alley between two tall buildings, studios or whatever, next to the parking lot. Trying to look as small and unnoticeable as possible, which of course made the seven feet tall man look incredibly stupid and ridiculous.

"Yeah, I think it is," Dean mumbled.

"Sa-Jared!" he shouted at his little brother. Sam seemingly flinched at the yell of his fake name, glancing around himself looking a lot like a scared rabbit, until he spotted Dean and Misha at the parking lot. A look of relief spread on his face and he walked the short distance to them.

"Um, hi guys," Sam said nonchalantly, leering at Misha curiously. Dean just rolled his eyes.

"Hi... What the hell were you doing back there?" Misha laughed at him.

"Nothing," Sam said quickly and an awkward silence fell between them. Just as Dean was about to cough to break the tension, Misha spoke up.

"Well then, you two have a productive day, and Jensen, see you in a couple of hours."

And then he grabbed Dean by the shoulders and smashed his lips onto Dean's. It was over as quickly as it started, Misha pulled away, smiling, and started to walk away, in the direction of the tall buildings where Sam had come from.

Dean just stared at his feet, not wanting to see the big goofy grin Sam would more than likely have on his stupid face.

"Wow, he seems to do that a lot," Sam stated and Dean could hear the damn grin.

"Shut up. Tell me you've got something on the stuff we need for the spell. We gotta get out of this universe while my brain is still intact," Dean growled, leaning back against the car looking glum.

"Well, you're not gonna like this," Sam started, and Dean felt his heart drop.

"We can most likely get everything from a well equipped supermarket somewhere downtown," his little brother continued.

"But that's a good thing?" Dean asked, unsure. Sam bit his bottom lip trying to look away from Dean's eyes.

"Sam..."

"...Except for the bone of a lesser saint. I looked it up on the web after you left last night, and apparently in this universe those are hard to come by. I was able to order one online though, but it won't be here before Saturday," Sam sounded apologetic. Dean couldn't believe it. He felt his blood boil.

"Saturday? Not before freaking _Saturday_? ! So basically you're saying that I'm stuck with this crap for two whole days? !" Dean pushed himself of the car shouting, stepping closer to Sam, not really helping himself, since his _little_ brother was almost a head length taller than him. But it just made him so angry. Sam had to be joking. Dean couldn't stay here for that long, he was already reached the highest freaking out level he could without exploding and he wasn't sure what he would do if he had to spent to more days with the fake-Cas. He might actually break. In more ways than one. And that scared the holiest hell out of him.

"Don't yell at me dude, I'm in this mess as much you are," Sam said calmly, not threatened by his brother's sudden burst of anger. But that just made Dean ever more angry. Sam just didn't get it. Well how could he get it?

"Oh, so you're in a mess? You get a mansion, an alpaca, a hot wife! A wife, Sam! I'm hitting it with a gay Cas! So don't you talk to me about this mess!"

Dean's shoulders slumped as he stepped back to lean back against the car. He closed his eyes, and let his head thump against the roof of the car. He felt more tired than he ever remembered feeling before. Being so damn confused and freaked out all the time was really stressing. He hated dimension swapping. Maybe even more than witches after this.

Sam frowned, looking at his brother. Dean looked somehow smaller, more fragile than before. It worried Sam.

"Dean... what happened with you and Misha?" he asked carefully, like poking thin ice with a stick. Dean's eyes shot open and his whole body jerked.

"Nothing. Nothing I ever wanna talk about," he muttered, looking away, and for a split second Sam was sure he'd seen Dean blush. They were silent for a long moment, before Dean pushed himself of the car again.

"Come on. Let's go check out the window we came through."

He started walking off to some random direction, not really knowing where to go. Sam followed few steps behind him.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?" he answered, not even turning to look at Sam.

"I do have problems with this universe too, you know. What do you think I was doing back there, hiding between the buildings?"

Now Dean stopped walking, looking at Sam over his shoulder.

"Playing hide and seek with yourself?" Sam rolled his eyes.

"I was hiding, yes, but from a flock of ravenous teenaged girls, who were trying, by the looks of it, kidnap me or something. They were insisting I'd take pictures with them, hug them all and one of them tried to rip my shirt off. I'm telling you, ghosts, demons, vampires... I'd take any of them over those girls any day. I know this is small, compared to your situation, but just to let you know, this is freaking me out as well" Sam rambled, looking like that kicked puppy again. Dean huffed at him.

"So you got scared by some girls, big deal," he snarled not seeing the connection between his and Sam's problem.

"Fine, you can have the alpaca if it means that much to you!" Sam cried out dramatically, flailing out his arms. Dean just stared at Sam with a blank face for a moment.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

They smiled at each other.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** DAMN YOU, WRITERS OF SUPERNATURAL! You have ruined the whole show for me because of seventh season. I don't enjoy watching it, or reading fics, or as the matter of fact, writing fics about it anymore, because it just reminds me that Cas is dead. And that makes me so damn sad. 8( I just don't want to believe it.

But I'll still keep writing. Because in my stories, Cas will always be alive.

_Comments honor the memory of our favorite angel._

**Chapter 4.**

That was just his life. When Dean thought it couldn't get any worse, his life took a turn from shitty to all hell breaking loose(too bad that sometimes it was literal). He was not only coping with all the crap with 'his new relationship' as Sam had started to call it, he was also forced to act as himself in a TV-show. Which shouldn't be so hard, seeing as who could play him better than himself. But apparently this Jensen Ackles guy could. It was horrible. The lines were tacky, the directors and what not kept yelling at him, and most of the time Dean didn't have even the slightest clue of what he was doing.

They hadn't meant to get stuck with this crap, but just so it happened, that when he and Sam were examining the fake-window in fake-Bobby's fake-house, all these people showed up, demanding them to 'do their jobs'. Unfortunately, that job didn't involve killing or burning anything. So by the time of the buzzer ringing in the signal of lunchbreak, Sam and Dean were ready to kill themselves, having being forced to sit in fake-Bobby's fake-study, pretending to be some one else pretending to be them and talking about their fake-feelings in front of a huge filming crew.

They ran from the set as fast as they could, not answering to any calls of 'Jensen!' or 'Jared!' or 'Come back you two!', right to fake-Dean's trailer.

When they slammed the door closed behind them, Dean headed right for the big couch in the back of the trailer, falling onto it, face down, groaning loudly. Sam just sat down at the table, looking petrified.

"That was... awful," he said slowly, voice lacking all emotions. Dean just groaned again.

"I say we bail this, head downtown to get what we need for the spell and lay low at... my place, until Saturday," Sam suggested, and Dean rolled over on the couch, facing his brother.

"I agree with you there. I can't take one more second of this screwed up excuse of a TV-crap," he said, sitting up, when he remembered it. Aw man, come on! Dean sighed deep, letting his head fall in his hands.

"Dude, I can't go."

"What? Why?" Sam looked surprised. Dean just pursed his lips in a tight line, looking at his feet.

"I uh... I made plans."

"Plans? What plans, with who?" Sam asked, looking like a big question mark. Until the realization hit him.

"Dude no... Misha? You made lunch plans with your boyfriend?"

Dean shot an angry look at Sam who somehow seemed to find this situation amusing. Dean made a mental note to strangle Sam in his sleep as soon as they got back home.

"Don't freaking call him that! And yes, I did. He asked me, caught me off guard so I kinda accidentally said yes," Dean muttered, scratching the back of his head, avoiding Sam's eyes.

"Kinda accidentally? Yeah right. But anyway, I don't see the problem, just skip it," Sam said, and for a second or so Dean considered it, before he sighed and shook his head slightly.

"Don't think I can, Sammy. I mean yesterday when I disappeared without letting him know, he went nuts over it, and I've been acting all kinds of crazy around him so I can't really tell him that I'm canceling the lunch because I have to go shopping with Jared to the local Wall-Mart for some quality blood of lamb," Dean explained and Sam rolled his eyes standing up. He started to pace around the trailer, running his fingers through his messy haired head.

"Okay, then what do we do?" he finally asked, clearly out of ideas.

"You go get the stuff, I go deal with this Misha-thing, and meet you later back at your mansion, okay?" Dean suggested, and not coming up with anything else, Sam nodded accepting it.

"Well then, we better get going," Dean said, getting up from the couch and walking over to the door of the trailer. Just to have it slam open in his face. Dean cursed loudly, taking few steps back, hand instantly clamping over his throbbing nose.

"Son of a bitch!"

"Dean, are you okay? !"

"Fuck Jens, I'm sorry babe, I didn't see you!"

All this was shouted at once by three different people, so they kind of drowned each others out, and that's how Sam escaped some clumsy excuse why he was calling 'Jensen' Dean.

Misha stood in the doorway, looking worriedly at Dean, who was trying to feel if his nose was broken. Luckily enough it wasn't. Misha walked in to the trailer, and right into Dean's personal space. He was wearing Cas' clothes. Well at least the wrinkled suit and the loose dark blue tie. It was still strange seeing the trench coat missing, but Misha in that suit... It was all Cas to Dean.

"You okay?" the fake-Cas, also known as Misha, asked carefully, putting his hand gently on Dean's shoulder and Dean let his eyes drop on the hand, just casually touching him.

"Yeah, I think I'll live..." he said quietly, still staring at the hand. It felt weird. A word that he had used more than he cared to count, in the past 24 hours, but this wasn't the same kind of weird as before. Because this time, the small touch, the closeness, and the heat radiating from the smaller man's body wasn't totally-utterly-freaking-out-what-the-hell-is-going-on-weird, but sort of scaringly-comfortable-weird.

"Well that's good I guess," Misha laughed it off, stepping back, and Dean caught himself just before he leaned after the man, to follow the freaky warmth of his body. And just then did Misha seem to realize that they weren't alone in the trailer. He lifted his gaze to stare at Sam with a surprised frown.

"Jared? What're you doing here?"

Sam glanced around himself, not sure where else he should be.

"Umm... Nothing, I was just leaving actually," he answered unsure, moving swiftly past his brother and his fake-boyfriend to the door. He turned around, mouthing 'good luck' to Dean, who gave Sam the finger, without Misha noticing. Misha still had that frown on his face, as he turned to stare after Sam. There was something in his eyes that Dean couldn't quite put his finger on. And Dean didn't like it. It was like this deep realization with sprinkles of hurt.

"Uhm... Misha?" Dean asked finally, unsure, when Misha had been just staring the door which Sam had passed through freakishly long, not saying anything, just staring, with that sort of crushed look on his face. But hearing Dean call out for him, Misha turned his head quickly to face Dean, a false smile plastering on his face.

"Yeah, okay, we should probably go too," he answered with a voice just a bit too quick and high.

Dean raised his eyebrows slightly at Misha's odd behavior, but didn't think too much to it and just followed the man out of the trailer and back to the parking lot.

**...**

The drive was quiet, with Misha staring straight ahead, tensed, not even glancing at Dean, and that was making it all the more awkward. When Dean was about to ask the guy what the hell was bothering him, just to break the uncomfortable thick silence in the car, Misha finally turned to him.

"So where do you wanna eat?"

Since it didn't really matter to Dean, he let Misha decide. And ten minutes later he found himself standing in front of a some hip vegetarian restaurant. _Oh you got to be kidding me..._

Of course on top of this all, Misha had to be one of those freaking hippies that ate nothing else than roots and grass and other bunny food like that. Dean was starving, he hadn't really eaten anything after he got zapped here, and now he was expected to get feed solely on salad. Just great.

And not to make it too easy on him, that had to be the most awkward lunch he had ever had.

Misha still wasn't really talking to Dean, and the fake-angel was avoiding his gaze so they ate in pressing silence which was driving Dean up the wall, since he had become accustomed to the talkative man. He even tried joking about something few times, just to even get Misha to laugh, but he only got a small hollow smile in return. It was coming clearer and clearer to Dean, that Misha was really upset with him about something. But he just couldn't bring himself to ask Misha about it. The thought of having some embarrassing relationship-talk with a dude, about a relationship that they didn't actually have, made shivers run up and down Dean's spine, so he decided it was better to remain in the awkward silence.

When they finally got out of the restaurant and were again in the car driving back to the studios, Dean coughed to break the still lingering silence.

"Um, hey, if it's not too much trouble, would you mind dropping me off at Jared's place?" he asked. It was easier and easier for him to refer Sam as Jared. He no longer was about to slip his brother's real name to Misha. So that's why it came to him as an extra surprise, when Misha suddenly slammed the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching stop. If Dean hadn't had the seat belt on, he would've most likely flown through the windshield. Now he just merely choked on the belt, letting out a startled, strangled sound and almost hit his head on the dashboard.

"Dude, what the hell? !" he turned to Misha, who was furiously struggling with his own seat belt, looking like he was about to explode. The man finally ripped the belt open and got out of the car, slamming the door shut loudly. Okay. Dean stared after the man for a second before getting out of the car too. He just thanked whatever God he believed was up there (well not here, but back in his own universe) that they were on a empty road, with no other cars.

"Dude, really what the hell? !" Dean shouted at Misha, getting angry, spreading out his arms in frustration, not caring anymore, if this ended up with some annoying talk about 'their relationship'. Misha was standing by the side of the road, his back to Dean, one hand on his hip and the other rubbing his chin. Like he was trying to hold something back. Really, Dean said it before, twice, and now he'd say it again. What the hell was going on? Did Misha just snap? Was he crazy now?

"Are you cheating on me, Jensen?" Misha finally asked, turning around and letting his arms drop to his sides. His face was blank, as those agonizingly blue eyes stared right through Dean. (God how much he looked like Cas when he did that) And for a moment Dean was at loss of words.

"What?" Dean asked not sure, if he had heard Misha right. The man just stared at him, voice like ice.

"Are you having an affair? With Jared, of all people!" Misha was starting to show some clear signs of anger, and Dean just felt like vomiting. Where the HELL would this guy get the idea of him with Sam? ! Well here they weren't really brothers, but still! Even the thought of it made Dean a little sick.

"I mean, he's married! The thought ever crossed your mind that this shit might not just break your relationship but his too? ! Did you even stop think how Gen might feel like when she finds out? ! Fuck, did you even think about me? ! Four years. Four years, Jensen! Doesn't that mean anything to you? ! And do you think that I don't, after all this, even deserve to hear the truth from you? Do you really think I'm so stupid that I wouldn't get it? You acting all strange and jumpy and guilty, suddenly hanging out with Jared all the time, calling him in the middle of the night and all that crap. Don't you think that after everything, you'd owe me something... something more? Something more than this crap and lying straight to my freaking face? !" Misha was a step away from crying. He didn't sound that angry, though he did have an angry stab to his words, but more so, he sounded disappointed. And that just hurt Dean the more.

Wow. This wasn't really what Dean had been expecting. He didn't really know what to do. He had been caught with another girls before, so he had experience in calming down hysterical women but that was a different thing, wasn't it? He hadn't been really... involved with them, it had just been random screwing, and now... now he guessed he kinda was involved with Misha. At least in someway. And Misha wasn't really a woman now was he? And this time, Dean hadn't even been cheating! He just stood still for a moment, puzzled. There wasn't really much he could do. So for once in his life, he chose to be honest. Well, as much as he could anyway. He cleared his throat, looking carefully at Misha, whose chest was heaving rapidly, and his cheeks were reddened. And his eyes... Those big blue eyes, that had Cas written all over them... Had this crushing weight of sorrow, disappointment and hurt in them. Which was caused by Dean. And suddenly that thought hurt Dean more than it ever should.

He walked slowly around the car, to Misha. Without thinking it, he kept walking, until he was close enough to taste Misha's shuddering breath on his lips. And then Dean ducked his head over the shorter man's shoulder, wrapping his arms gently around Misha.

The man was rigid and still in his arms, but still, he sort of melted into the embrace, fitting. Like he belonged there. Dean felt Misha sob against him.

"Don't think this is making me forgive you anything," he spat out venomously, and Dean could hear the tears that were being held back. And Dean held on to Misha for a little longer, before he let go, not stepping back, so he was still _really_ close to the other man.

"I'm not cheating on you," he didn't get any further when Misha cut him off, stepping back, looking royally pissed again.

"Yeah, right."

"Would you just listen to me?" Dean tried again. Misha didn't look at him anymore, but at least he kept quiet, and didn't walk away either.

"I'm not having an affair with Jared. I know it's probably hard to believe after all this, but I'm telling you, there's no way, that could ever happen. Not in this universe or in any else. It's just... The idea of it..." Dean made a disgusted face, and could almost swear, he saw a little smile curl in the corners of Misha's lips. But it was only a shadow.

"I'm not having an affair with anyone! I'm not cheating on you, okay?" Dean said with a firm voice, trying to catch Misha's eyes, but the man persistently looked away which was kind of impressing, being that they stood less than two feet away from each other.

"How the hell am I supposed to believe you? What the fuck's been up with you these past days? And don't give me that 'bad work-week'-bullshit," Misha's voice was still distrusting and hurt. Dean sighed. Well, here goes nothing.

"I... haven't really been feeling like myself lately. And... And it's been kinda confusing and scary for me, and I found out that Jared's been feeling like that too. So, I don't know, I guess I feel kind of... composed, around him, so that's why I've been hanging with him that much. So don't worry okay? No questionable acts of the carnal sin were committed," Dean explained, sticking with the truth as much as he could. Well it was sort of the truth. He was not sleeping with fake-Sam, thank heavens for that, I totally wasn't feeling like some Jensen dude, and he felt more composed with Sam, since with Sam, he didn't need to flip out all the time. He just failed to mention to Misha, that he wasn't really Jensen, and that he was actually Dean Winchester, from another dimension. But Dean thought he could be forgiven that for certain reasons and to avoid the whole "You're crazier than a bag full of chipmunks on crack"-conversation.

Misha slowly looked up, searching something in Dean's eyes, and Dean took that 'look me in the eyes and tell me if I'm lying'-face he had on, because as he'd stated, he wasn't lying to Misha. Now that he thought on it a little he didn't even feel like lying to the guy. Hell, when he looked into those blue eyes that reminded him distantly of rain clouds or the dead center of an ocean, he didn't even think he could lie to Cas. Uhm, Misha. He meant Misha.

"So... You just don't feel composed around me?" and there was still that hurt in Misha's voice. Dean sighed again. But hey, at least he got the anger and gut wrenching sorrow to vanish.

"No... It's not that. I just don't wanna scare you any more with me flipping out all the time. So I think it's better if I spend more time with, you know, Jared," Dean explained, and again, not really lying. He didn't like upsetting Misha over the fact that he was freaking out like every five seconds, but also, he didn't really feel that composed when he woke up with the dude's lips around his dick.

And as soon as that though clawed it's way through Dean's brains, he hoped he hadn't gone there. He felt a blush creep up his neck as the images flashed in his mind, and suddenly his eyes were glued to Misha's lips. Those soft, full, talented lips...

"But don't worry, okay? I'm sure this will all be over in few days," Dean blurted out, scared by the thoughts rushing in his head, trying to get something else to focus on. Too bad, that didn't work. But then again, why would he luck out this time?

Because in that moment Misha apparently decided that he was telling the truth, because with a desperate exhale Misha grabbed Dean by his neck, and yanked him closer, to again, smash his lips on Dean's mouth. But this time the kiss was all but over quickly.

Misha moved his lips softly against Dean's, sliding his other hand up along Dean's neck to his hair, curling his fingers in it, while Dean himself just stood there still, and awkward, not really knowing what to do. He couldn't really push the guy away after they had just fought over him not wanting Misha, now could he? And when he felt the questioning tongue roll over his bottom lip asking for permission, Dean though, well screw this, and went with it. It was just one kiss right? And he was doing it so that this Jensen fellow could have a happy come-back when he'd get zapped back home.

Or at least that's what Dean told himself.

Slowly, like trying it out, Dean wrapped his arms around Misha's waist, opening his mouth carefully, letting Misha's oh, so talented tongue venture inside his mouth. And he was struck with the taste. It was like nothing he had ever tasted before. Dean had in his past made out with a certain number of women and all of them had their own taste. Basically it was always some sort of lipstick or lip gloss, like strawberry or cherry and one had even had chocolate, but this... it was something Dean couldn't even identify. Misha tasted like sparks, electricity, the color red with a hint of apple pie. He tasted like home. It was unbelievable. The feeling alone, being kissed by him was more than Dean could handle. And without thinking it, Dean spun them around, and pushed the smaller man against the car, nipping on his bottom lip. Dean slid his hands up Misha's body feeling it shudder beneath his simple touch, to his dark hair, pressing their bodies close. The feeling... It was like being so torn, and so lost for so long and finally being home. It was a scary feeling. And Dean couldn't get enough of it. He pushed his thigh between Misha's legs, needing to get closer. The kiss changed. It wasn't slow and gentle anymore. It was fierce and all about need. Misha ran his hands down along Dean's spine, to take a firm hold of the hunter's lower back pulling the man flat against him, as if he too felt the pressing urge to be closer, if that was even possible anymore. They were like two pieces mended back together, as they rocked against each other on instinct. Dean felt the burning need of oxygen in his chest, but he wasn't willing to let go yet, so he just eagerly swallowed every moan, gasp and small sound that Misha let escape his lips.

And then Dean realized that he was really breaking. In more ways than one.

But before he got to freak out over that, he was interrupted by the cruel sound of car horn honking again. Startled, he jumped back, away from Misha, to see an angry little man in his car, right behind their car that was blocking the whole road, where Misha had abruptly stopped it.

Dean turned to look at Misha, who was still leaning against their car, panting and lips swollen. His hair was a mess, and the wrinkled jacket of his Cas-suit was hanging off his shoulders. His eyes were darkened again with lust and longing, and Dean didn't even dare to lower his eyes, because he was sure he'd see the obvious sign of their make out session beneath Misha's belt, and that was just too much. Specially, as he was carrying that little inconvenient sign himself. Dean was shocked and appalled with himself.

"We better get going..." the shorter man said, the arousal clear in his voice that was lower than normally.

"Yeah, right," Dean breathed out, voice barely audible. Misha smiled at him before he turned and got back into the car.

Dean hadn't even realized how much he had missed that smile.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Long-ass chapter is looooooong...**  
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Firstly, I'd like to take some time out of my busy day, to thank you all for your lovely comments. It's heartwarming how you not only go through with reading this whole thing, but you also enjoy it, and give me feedback on the story. (8 It is greatly appreciated, so thank you all so much!

And about the story. I had so many problems with this chapter, and when I finally had written it all, my lap-top decided to freeze, and I lost the whole thing. So, pissed-off and ready to go on a killing spree, I just scrambled this one up quickly so it's kind of a piss poor job, done in few hours.

Plus, I've never written anything more sexual than a casual blowjob, and you might notice it, while you read this chapter but...

Here, Have some porn. : )

**Chapter 5. **

Dean sat very still on his seat. Actually he was redefining the concept of being still. He didn't breathe, he didn't even blink. He just stared, petrified, at the cheerful man next to him, driving the car. Dean couldn't believe what had happened. He couldn't believe himself! Had he really, he, Dean Winchester the manliest of men, the infamous womanizer, just made out with a dude? Oh, and not just any dude. With fake-Cas, of all people. And had he really enjoyed it that much? Because all he was really itching for, was another taste of those perfect, soft, kiss swollen lips. And that was some scary shit for Dean. It made him want to escape this situation as fast as he could, and screw as many chicks as possible within the next 24 hours until he stopped feeling this dirty. But stronger than that, he felt the aching need to lean closer to Misha, and run his tongue along the man's exposed neck.

This had to be some temporary insanity thing, right?

But why wasn't it wearing off?

"You really gotta go to Jared's?"

Even if Dean was staring right at the guy, it still took him some time to register, that Misha was talking to him.

"What?"

Misha smiled gently at Dean's terrified look.

"You really gotta go to Jared's?" he repeated.

"Because I thought that since you're obviously taking rest of the day off, which is totally gonna piss Bob off, by the way, we could... go back home?"

His voice was heavy, and he gave Dean the 'going back home equals screwing like bunnies all afternoon'-look, which made chills shudder all through Dean's body. He just couldn't decide whether they were the good chills, or the nausea chills.

And then Dean realized that he had been staring at Misha for some time now, and he quickly turned his gaze to his lap, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"Um, yeah. I really gotta go. Sorta promised to the guy," he mumbled, missing the disappointed look on his fake-boyfriend's face.

"Fine. But just... promise me something, Jens?" Misha said, voice as serious as it could. So serious, that it sounded like the low, emotionless grumble of Cas' voice, and that had Dean staring at the man again. With his solemn face and the ruffled dark hair, with his clear blue eyes and the wrinkled suit with the loose blue tie... He wasn't Misha anymore. He was Cas to Dean.

Trying to swallow the huge lump in his throat that came with that sudden realization Dean answered, voice thick and unsure.

"Sure?"

"If you're going through something, a bad time or not feeling like yourself like you said... Talk to me about it, okay? Even if you don't feel that composed around me or whatever the fuck. I know you're the quiet type, keeping to yourself and all that bullshit, but for the benefit of us both, just talk to me. You have no idea what horror pictures I had running through my mind when I didn't know what was going on and I don't enjoy flipping over shit like this, so please. Talk to me. I love you, and I want to help, if you'd just let me," Misha said with a quiet and soft voice, pulling over in front of Jared Padalecki's mansion. He looked kind of worried, but a lot more calmer this time. Dean swallowed hard and nodded, forcing a smile on his face. He didn't really know what to say, and to his relief, that answer satisfied Misha, because he smiled too.

"Well then, now that this whole mess is more or less sorted out, you kids play nice. I gotta still go back to the set," he said jokingly and reached out for Dean.

And kissed him.

It was one of those Misha's quick kisses that he apparently used as handshakes, but it took all the will Dean had, not to lean into the kiss and devour the weirdly named actor whole. Dean squeezed his hands into tight fists not to grab Misha by the shoulders and deepen the kiss. He wanted it. He needed it. But he couldn't let himself do it. This was all screwed up enough as it was without him letting this whole ordeal spin out of control and get even gayer than he had already let it get.

Amazing blowjobs, kisses and soft touches with a dude, and Dean enjoying it...

He would never get freaked out by anything anymore the same way he used to.

So after Misha leaned back from the kiss that lasted only a fragment of a second, Dean smiled quickly, muttering an even quicker bye, getting out of the car.

**…**

If Dean had thought, that his day would improve itself after he'd get rid of Misha and all the impure thoughts that seemed to float in his head in the man's company, he was gravely mistaken.

Firstly he had to put up with all the crap Sam was giving him, in the obnoxious form of brotherly teasing. About his 'boyfriend', which Sam kept calling Misha. He also kept talking, being a bitch that he was, about the joys of a long term committed relationship, about hand holding, candlelight dinners and overly graphic gay sex. And he wouldn't shut up until Dean threatened to throttle Sam right there where he stood, and then shoot him few times.

And if that wasn't bad enough, the fake-Ruby made her appearance after few hours, thrilled that 'Jared' was home so early, and was all over Sam. That might have been the most disturbing thing Dean had ever seen.

Well, if not included the sight of Cas' lips around his own dick.

Misha's. He meant Misha's.

And what was bothering him even more, was that Sam didn't seem to be so bothered about getting molested by the fake-demon bitch. But then again, why would he be, at least she was a chick. A very annoying chick, that kept dropping not-so-subtle hints for Dean to get the hell out, so that she and Sam would get the house to themselves. Dean and her didn't seem to get that well along even in this universe. At least that was comforting to know.

But it went on for some time, before it started to really piss Dean off, since he and Sam couldn't even talk about what they were going to do with the spell and when and how, having the broad glued to Sam's side. So Dean decided against his better judgment to bail this crap, and head 'home'. To Misha. He had his doubts about that, but even more doubts he had about staying here with Sam and his apparently easily putting-out wife.

And apparently this universe was making Sam even a more of a bitch than normally, because when Dean was about to leave, Sam caught up with him in the hallway, to dump a bag full of questionable items for the spell, into Dean's arms, insisting that Dean should take them with him to his place. Because clearly Dean had better chance at hiding them in his small two room house than Sam had hiding them in one of the many rooms in his big-ass mansion.

When Dean was finally standing on the street outside of Sam's mansion, pissed off and left with a bag full of jars of sheep blood and what not, he realized, that he had no idea how to get to his place. He didn't have a car, and all that he knew, Misha was still working at the set so he couldn't really call and ask for a ride. And he'd rather take a nature walk back to hell, than go back inside to ask a ride from Sam or Gen. Just to spare himself from the mental images of being forced to walk in on the two humping like horny teenagers in the hallway, now that Dean was finally out of the house.

So he was instead forced to call a taxi. Before he of course realized that he didn't know the address to his own freaking place.

After the most awkward talk with the taxidriver, googling his own (or Jensen Ackles') address on the taxidriver's goddamn smartphone and half an hour later, he was finally back at the small, white, suburban house.

"No place like home... right," Dean muttered bitterly to himself, stepping inside the narrow hallway, and stashing the bag with the spell supplies into the hallway closet, not sacrificing too much thought on it. He heard somebody moving around in the house, and that could only mean one thing.

Misha was home.

Dean kicked his shoes off and walked slowly, as quietly as possible, until he reached the kitchen door, where he stopped to stare at the fake-angel. Misha was bustling around in the small kitchen, cooking something that smelled like burnt plastic to Dean, but that wasn't what made him stop and just observe the other man. It was the way this complete aura of happiness and relaxation seemed to just float around him. Misha had a small smile on his lips, as he chopped up vegetables, humming some list hit pop song that Dean didn't recognize. He looked so unchained and content. Like he had no worries in the world. Like he didn't have the constant weight of the apocalypse or heaven's civil war hanging on his shoulders. Well, then again why would he have, he wasn't actually Cas. But Dean liked what he saw. He liked seeing that face smiling, with the expression of relaxation and care free. And Dean bet that if he was to reach out and touch that body, it wouldn't be tense and still like a marble statue, but that it would more than willingly melt into Dean's touch.

And that was the moment when Dean decided to finally give in.

He stopped thinking. All together. Because what good had the thinking done him? Nothing. So Dean went on his autopilot mode, and walked right up to Misha, who now had his back turned to Dean, to stir something foul smelling cooking on the stove. Misha didn't notice Dean before the hunter had his arms wrapped around the actor's waist, holding him tightly against Dean's chest.

Misha let out a small sound of surprise, and Dean buried his face in Misha's neck, inhaling the other man's wonderful scent that made Dean's stomach do backflips.

"Hi, when did you get here?" Misha said, with a hint of laughter in his voice. And it took all Dean's strength to answer to him. Suddenly it he found it very hard to speak.

"Just now. I think I now remember why I don't hang out with Jared that much," he attempted a little joke, but his voice was too small and too muffled by Misha's neck, since he didn't even bother to lift his head while answering to the guy.

"You didn't get into a fight or anything?" Misha sounded worried, and Dean just shook his head, still not lifting it from Misha's neck.

"Nah, he was just being a dick, like usually," Dean muttered, breathing in the scent of Misha, that made his head spin slightly. Misha leaned back against him, and Dean was sure he'd drown in the feeling. It was like this was where he was meant to be. And now that he had stopped fighting against it, it felt all the more better. Being who he was, and doing what he did, it was hard to just stop for a moment, and be relaxed, take some time off, and feel safe while doing so, but this... this was all Dean could ask for. He nuzzled Misha's neck, and without even really realizing it, he planted a small kiss on the soft skin. He could hear Misha chuckle gently.

"What's with the cuddling and acting like a puppy, Romeo?" he was clearly amused, but not complaining. Dean couldn't answer him. Not when he himself didn't really understand it. Dean didn't want to understand it, because then he'd have to think about it. And he most certainly didn't want to think about it. Not now.

Misha tried to turn in the embrace to face Dean, but Dean kept him still, not wanting to let go yet. Not wanting to let go of the feeling that was making his head swim and his heart beat dangerously fast.

"Just lemme hold you... for a little while," the words tasted weird in Dean's mouth. He didn't think he had ever said those words to anyone. They didn't sound like anything he'd ever say. But he just couldn't let go yet.

"The vegetables will burn," Misha notified, and Dean peeked over his shoulder to see the small, rubbery, brown pieces of something on the frying pan and grimaced at them.

"Well, any change on their current state is clearly an improvement," Dean said, smiling into Misha's shoulder.

"Asshole," Misha laughed, turning off the stove and spun around in the embrace.

They were so close, that their noses were touching and Dean could taste Misha's breath on his lips. The taste was like a hollow version of the kiss they had shared earlier that day and that alone was driving Dean up the wall here.

Misha ran his hands up along Dean's sides to his neck, stroking the small hairs there, making shudders rip through Dean's whole body. Misha wasn't laughing or smiling anymore, but he had that small twinkle in his blue eyes that Dean had learned to interpret as good mood, from Cas' eyes. And then Misha plunged forward and kissed Dean. It wasn't over quickly, and it wasn't slow. It was all hungry biting and clawing, and before Dean even realized it, Misha's tongue was in his mouth, and they were battling for dominance. Dean quickly won the fight, greedily devouring the taste he had already become addicted to. And Dean was drowning. The taste was like hundred times stronger than before and the feeling just washed over him. The unexplainable want and need to be closer. To have more. It was like floating and everything else just seemed to cease existing around Dean. There were no demons, no parallel universe, no end of the world... There was just this. Him, and Cas. Misha!

Dean was sure that the shorter man could feel his heart beat pulsing through his body.

His hands were shaking, as he gripped Misha tighter, pulling him closer and then Misha pushed his hips up against Dean, and Dean could feel the obvious bulge in Misha's jeans pressed against his thigh.

And Dean realized he was moaning like a whore at the feeling. _He needed more_.

On an instinct, without thinking Dean pushed Misha against the kitchen counter, lifting the man to sit on it, like he weighted nothing. Misha let out a surprised sound that quickly turned into a moan, as Dean pushed between his legs, attacking his mouth for another teeth shattering kiss. It was strange. Dean had never even experimentally imagined himself in this kind of situation, and now here he was, more turned on than he probably ever had been.

His skin was too tight for his body and his head felt like it was on fire with the too many scary thoughts running through it, but all of them drowned out by the single track chant that was going on in there; more, more, more, more!

Dean nibbled on Misha's bottom lip, rocking against him, earning some serious happy sounds from the man, and that turned him on the more. The low guttural moans were like little jolts of electricity through his spine and right to his already hard, weeping cock.

Misha struggled to push Dean's jacket of his shoulders, running his hands over the hunter's t-shirt covered torso, trying to touch him everywhere at once. He hooked his other leg around Dean's waist to bring them even closer, gasping and moaning at the pressure and friction that the contact was creating in all the right places. And that blew free this amazing burning white hot feeling of denied lust Dean didn't even know he had, so for a second he was so confused about that, that he didn't even realize that Misha had pulled away from their kiss. Until Dean was almost violently stripped of his t-shirt, and the man sitting on the counter was pulling him close again, to launch an attack on his neck.

Misha bit the underside of his jaw, planting a small kiss over every red spot he created, all the while his blunt fingernails were digging into Dean's shoulders. Dean let out a shaky breath, and he had to let go of Misha for a moment, to grip the counter Misha was sitting on, to stable himself because he felt like his knees would give out under him from the sheer pleasure. Apparently Misha liked it rough. And Dean wasn't complaining. Not the least bit.

"Bedroom. Now," Misha's voice was a low demanding growl, as he sucked on the sensitive skin beneath Dean's ear, making Dean mad with desire. But even through his hazy mind Dean dreaded letting go of the man, even for the time to walk the lousy few feet to the bedroom, because he feared, that his mind would get the better of him. That if he'd let go, he'd suddenly regret this whole thing and start freaking out, like he was expected to do. And he didn't want that. He wanted Misha. So bad, that it was making his whole body ache, and him to realize, they were wearing too many clothes.

But before he got to do anything about that, Misha had unhooked his leg, and pushed Dean back just enough to leave him room to jump off the counter. And at the loss of contact, Dean's didn't feel scared, panicking or freaked out as hell, but he felt lost and incredibly horny. Luckily, Misha didn't waste any time, hooking his fingers into Dean's belt loops, backing the whole way through the livingroom to the bedroom, dragging Dean along with him and all that time, he was smiling that cute dorky smile, that made the corners of his eyes wrinkle, staring right in Dean's eyes, signaling to him with every cell in his body, the want and need and love, Misha felt for him. And that made something distant flutter in the pit of Dean's stomach, but before he got to analyze it, it was overpowered with the raw hunger roaring through Dean.

Once they reached the bedroom, Dean let go of whatever little doubt he might have been carrying until this point, and just ripped the white button-up shirt off of Misha.

"Nice Incredible Hulk-impression," he laughed, but Dean ignored the remark, pushing the man back, until the back of Misha's knees hit the bed and they fell on it, lips joining in midair in a heated kiss. Dean straddled Misha's hips, running his hands experimentally over the exposed chest and stomach. Misha quivered eagerly under the touch.

It was strange. The lack of boobs, and hard muscles and angles where there should be soft curves. But at least there were nipples. He could concentrate on those. So Dean ducked his head, sucking one pink nub into his mouth and he was rewarded with a breathy moan from Misha. A moan, that went straight to his crotch that had been neglected for too long. Dean lowered his body, to grind his hips against Misha's all the while kissing and sucking on his chest. And even through the layers of fabric the long needed friction was amazing.

Misha bucked up from the bed, meeting Dean's hips in the thrusts. Misha moaned Dean's fake-name loud enough for the neighbors to hear and his hands wandered down on Dean's back, to grab the hunter's ass firmly.

Dean groaned, lifting his head, to gaze at Misha's darkened eyes, when he noticed the small bitemarks he had left on the actor's chest, and a shudder of greed and possessiveness rushed through him when he realized that he had marked the man to himself. Misha was his. And that didn't freak him out, not one bit.

Dean felt a tug at his waist and looked down to see that Misha had reached his hands between them, and was undoing his belt and pants hurriedly. Dean helped him, kicking the rest of his clothing off, leaving him completely exposed and vulnerable, hovering over the smaller man. But that didn't matter to him, because he felt completely safe and comfortable right there where he was.

Dean reached down to kiss Misha again, pushing his tongue hungrily past the soft thin lips, sliding it against Misha's tongue, while trying to return the favor, reaching for Misha's belt with shaky hands. After struggling for a while, Dean let out a sigh of frustration.

"Is this damn thing welded on?" he frowned, pulling back to sit between Misha's legs. The other man chuckled softly at him, sitting up too. He gently covered Dean's hands with his own, helping the hunter to undo his belt and jeans, and pulling them off.

And then they were both naked.

_Really _naked.

And yep, that was a penis.

A very long, large and erect penis, flat against Misha's stomach, begging to be touched and pre-cum already oozing out of the head, and suddenly Dean was feeling very nervous. Like the part of his brain with all the 'No I can't do this, he's a dude, and I'm not gay'-bullshit had turned itself on again and was now terrorizing him.

Was he really going to do this? Have sex with this guy? With this fake-Cas?

It only took one unsure glance at Misha's lust and love filled eyes to give Dean the answer.

Yes. He was abso-freaking-lutely doing this. But he was never ever telling Sam about this.

Dean didn't even really know what was driving him so furiously into this, but he just knew, that it felt _good_. Damn it, it felt right. And God, did it feel good, when Misha reached out to pull Dean onto him again, and then there was the grinding again. But this time without the restriction of clothes.

Burning hot skin against skin, as they rocked together, their achingly hard members sliding between their bodies, the pre-cum slicking the movement. Dean would lose his mind, if he wouldn't get release soon. He was gasping and moaning, biting and sucking on Misha's neck.

The sensation was better than any other sexual experience he had ever felt.

He rutted against Misha's body feeling his peak closing with so much intensity he didn't even notice the careful, wet finger sliding down on his spine all the way between his cheeks, until the digit was slowly pushed inside of him.

Dean jerked up, with a horrified look on his face. He hadn't really been prepared for this. But of course, sex with another man, there was little so much ways it could go down, but still Dean hadn't thought he would end up in this position. Misha smiled up at him, like asking for permission and Dean bit his lower lip.

The finger slowly moving inside him didn't hurt, but it felt weird and unfamiliar, and even if Dean was curious and intrigued about it, he needed to have some control over the situation.

"Umm, could I... I mean would you... Uhm..." Dean was stuttering and he blushed. For god's sake, he wasn't used to asking his sexual partners if he could screw them, since always before it had been obvious that he would be the one doing the... poking. But still Misha seemed to understand where he was getting at with his incoherent sentences and nodded, pulling the finger out.

Dean wasn't ashamed to admit that he groaned at the sudden feeling of emptiness inside him.

Misha retrieved his hand to his face, slipping three of his fingers in his mouth, sucking on them with the same kind of hunger he had sucked on Dean's dick in the morning, without breaking the intense eye contact between himself and Dean.

Dean moaned at the sight, feeling like he could cum right then and there. But it got better. Misha pulled the fingers out of his mouth with a wet pop, lowering his hand between their bodies. Dean stared with awe as Misha slipped the first spit slicked finger inside himself.

Sweat was forming on Misha's forehead as he squeezes his eyes tight shut, and Dean moaned with him, as Misha circled the finger, moving it in and out of his body. Dean forgot how to breathe. It was the most arousing sight he had ever had the pleasure to witness.

"Oh God, Misha..." he groaned as the man beneath him pushed in the second finger, starting to scissor himself. Misha threw his head back in the pillows, gasping out for Jensen. It bothered Dean, that Misha was kind of calling out a wrong name, but any feelings of annoyance were quickly washed away, as Misha added the third finger, and full on fucked himself with the long, slender digits. Dean lowered his body closer to Misha's, licking a long stripe along his collarbone, biting down just a little too hard on it, tasting the sweat on Misha's skin. He couldn't wait any longer. The feeling of Misha's hips rolling beneath him was too much.

Dean gripped at Misha's wrist pulling his hand away earning a small whimper from the man. He hoisted Misha's legs up on his shoulders and positioned himself at the actors entrance. Dean hesitated for a split second, glancing at the wrecked man laying on his back underneath him. Misha's chest was heaving rapidly, and his hair was stuck flat to his forehead with sweat, and the blue irises of his eyes were almost completely taken over by the dilated pupil. Dean could literally see Misha's dick pulsing. The man reached up his arms, running his hands over Dean's chest.

"Please, _please,_ Jensen, now..."

His voice was barely louder than a whisper, but it was all Dean needed, as he broke his final barriers, pushing inside the tight, warm body. He tried to be careful, he didn't want to hurt Misha, but he couldn't help himself, as the feeling was too much, and with a little too much force and a little too fast, Dean buried himself all the way inside the squeezing tight heat. Misha groaned from the pain and the pleasure closing his eyes again.

"No, keep 'em open. I wanna see you," Dean heard himself growl not really knowing where the words came from, trying to steady himself, to give Misha time to adjust to the feeling of being filled so completely.

Dean held onto Misha's hips with grip of iron and Misha's eyelids fluttered open, and when Dean was sure he didn't see a speck of pain in them, because he wanted this to feel as good for Misha, as it felt to him, he began to move. He tried to go slow, he tried to be careful, and he sort of held onto some kind of rhythm, but it wasn't slow in anyone's standards. Dean slammed himself inside Misha's perfect tight body over and over again, trying to go deeper every time. Misha rocked against him, meeting his thrusts, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"Oh, fuck Jens, harder," the man commanded him, and Dean was happy to obey.

He had been in heaven before, or at least the one time he remembered of, but when he'd die, Dean would more than willingly trade the salvation, the paradise whatever, to this moment. This feeling. It wasn't just the sexual pleasure, which was mind blowing, by the way, but it was also this tight feeling in his chest, that warmed him from the inside making sparks run under his skin, making him forget how to breathe. Making him want to call out for Cas...

And then Misha was screaming something incoherent, gripping tight on Dean's arms, nails digging into his flesh. Dean had obviously hit that spot inside him. It made the hunter grin, as he shifted so that he was able to hit that spot with almost every hard, deep thrust. He was close, so close...

Suddenly he felt Misha lift his legs of his shoulders. The man kept lifting them higher, until Dean was forced to pull out of the amazing heat he had been buried in. And Misha flipped his legs over his own shoulders, behind his head. Dean could do nothing but stare, mouth dry, at the wonderful sight of Misha offering himself to Dean like that. Holy hell the man was flexible. Misha chuckled at Dean's face.

"C'mon don' make me beg for it," he said, wriggling his hips suggestively. And Dean didn't need to be told twice. Dean thrusted in, all rough passion and lust, deeper than he had been before. He rutted, fast and hard, pulling almost all of himself out, before slamming back in, making the man beneath him tremble and let out soft cries of pleasure. Misha's hands were in his hair, pulling and tugging him down for a messy kiss. Misha's obviously painfully hard cock was rubbing against Dean's chest, complaining about being ignored, so Dean grabbed a firm hold of it, pumping furiously. He didn't want it to be over yet, he wanted this to last forever, but he needed the release. He needed to see the fake-angel come undone, bent like that under him.

There was no rhythm anymore in their movements, they were both just desperately trying to reach their climax, rocking together, touching, kissing, biting.

And it finally just took one hard thrust of Dean's hips, and a tight squeeze of his fist around Misha's dick, to make them both come simultaniously. Misha clenched around Dean, screaming for Jensen, and Dean rode out his orgasm with jerky little thursts. With Castiel's name on his lips.

It was like fireworks went off behind his eyes, crushing the air out of his lungs. This god-holy pleasure prickling on his skin, trying to tear it's way out of him. Dean had never experienced anything like that. Anything so intense, so incredible. And the second the feeling took over his body and mind, he knew he needed to feel it again.

Dean wanted stay inside Misha for a little longer and just collapse to lay on top of him, but instead he pulled out, and gave the man some room to untangle himself. Misha straigtened out his legs and just laid flat on the bed chest rising and falling quickly as he basked in the afterglow.

Dean let himself fall next to Misha, and pull the man to lie closer to him. He stared at Dean with his beautiful but tired blue eyes, smiling lazily and without a hesitation, Dean reaced out to kiss Misha gently on his bitten-red lips. Dean was out of breath, worn out, and utterly freaking blissfull. He couldn't remember when was the last time he had felt like this. Probably never.

Misha rolled half on top of him nuzzling his chest. He was warm and soft and perfect in all the ways Dean could ever imagine, and he just wanted to stop running and stay here. Where he could for once have what he _really_ wanted. Where he actually felt like home.

Dean was drifting off to sleep when he heard the mumbled words.

"I love you."

And he wasn't sure if it had been Misha, or him who said it.

**…**

**A/N2: **I know Dean has that anti-possession tattoo and the hand-brand on his body and that Misha should've seen those and question them since I'm pretty sure that Jensen Ackles doesn't really have those, but I was too lazy to write it. Maybe I'll cover it in the next chapter.

And those of you who wonder about the bendy-Misha thing, you really need to watch the episode of Nip/Tuck, where he makes an appearence. But beware, your mind may be blown a little by that.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **I'm so sorry that this took like fucking forever, but I've had like a thousand things keeping me from writing and I've been working on some of my other fics lately and excuses, excuses, excuses. Bottom line, I'm sorry, and here it finally is.

This chapter was a bitch. It was so hard to write this, since it has so much all that 'feelings'-stuff in it, and still keep Dean in character. But I hope I did a decent job at it anyway. Let me know what you think. (8

And as always, thank you all so much for your awesome comments!

Oh, and this chapter is loooooooooooooong. And sort of pointless.

**...**

**Chapter 6.**

"Jensen."

"Hmrfh."

"Jen, seriously."

"Hmphm."

"Jen, get the fuck up."

"Hmmmrfpmh,"

"Jen. Get. Up. I got something awesome to show you."

"..."

"Fine then, I'm done playing nice. Remember that you brought this upon yourself."

Dean kept ignoring his fake-name that had been shouted at him for the past ten minutes and just turned to lay on his other side, feeling the weight of the other man lifting off from the mattress beside him.

Dean was still feeling completely blissed out and relaxed, like there were no bones left in his body. He just wanted to stay there, half unconscious, in bed, and most preferably have that warm soft body curled against him, like it had been there the whole night. Like his very own Cas-shaped pillow.

But his dreams were crushed abruptly, when he felt something cold and very wet make a sudden contact with his face. Dean's eyes shot open and he was trying to cough and wheeze the water out of his lungs and nose. What the hell?

He sat up to find Misha standing by the bed with now empty glass in his hand, which he had apparently turned over right above Dean's head. The man was grinning mischievously at confused and annoyed Dean, putting down the water glass on the nightstand.

"Dick. What was that for?" Dean coughed up, but finding it hard to actually be angry at Misha. He was way too relaxed to get mad.

"Since you refused to wake up after me practically bouncing on you, I thought I'd get creative," Misha smiled, and Dean felt a sly smile creep on his lips too.

"Well why then didn't you get as creative as you did yesterday morning?" he let the words escape him before he had the chance to think them over. A slight blush crept up Dean's neck and to his cheeks, without him really even knowing why. After all he had already given himself up and gone the whole way through with this man, so suggesting another blow job wasn't that bad. But Misha just chuckled softly.

"Because I don't wanna spoil you rotten. Come on, get dressed and come outside, I gotta show you something, you'll love it," Misha said, almost skipping in place with excitement. Then he darted out of the room, without giving Dean another chance to say anything. The hunter just stared after the actor, but definitely _not_ staring at his perfect ass.

Dean shook his head slightly, getting out of the bed and walking over to the tall wardrobe, still completely naked from the night before. And all that time Dean listened to the quiet, peaceful humming in his head. It was unnatural. He kept waiting for the screaming panic and freaking out to hit him with all the thoughts of "Oh my god, what have I done! ?", or the gut wrenching feeling of wanting to throw up in disgust.

But it never came.

All he felt was this happy buzzing in his brains. This freakingly good feeling of content. Dean didn't think he had ever felt it before. Like he didn't need to be afraid or ashamed anymore. Like it was all good. It brought a small, but very real smile to Dean's lips.

The thought of Misha's taste didn't make him want to throw up in disgust. The memory of the feeling of Misha's burning hot skin beneath his own didn't freak him out.

Dean Winchester had finally done the one thing he had never thought he'd do. He had given in. And it felt so _good_.

He had given in to this devouring, denied and dark feeling that had been for years lurking somewhere in the back of his mind. He still couldn't really name what it was, but he knew it made him feel good, even if this other gnawing small feeling told him, he was supposed to be feeling ashamed for it, he wasn't. He might even say that he was... hell, he was almost happy.

Dean got dressed with a goofy, lopsided smile on his face, before he walked outside.

Misha was standing at the front door, a big happy smile lighting up his face and Dean wanted nothing more than to just kiss those smiling lips.

"Would you stop ogling at me and look at that," Misha said impatiently, pointing at something and Dean followed Misha's finger with his eyes to see the black -67 Chevy Impala parked on their driveway right behind the silvery box like Toyota.

There was a second that he couldn't breathe. Just taking in the sight of his baby. With all its dents and scratches, it was there. The goofy lopsided smile on Dean's face turned into a full on madman grin. And then he turned, grabbed Misha by his neck, and kissed the man like he wanted to.

It was the first time that Dean actually started the kiss instead of just going with it and that made it all the more awesome. Misha sighed happily against Dean's lips before Dean pulled back, staring into the shiny blue eyes he'd grown so fond of.

"Dude, you're like the best boyfriend ever, you know that?"

Well, there was a sentence Dean never thought he'd say, but then again, it felt _right _to say it. So Dean said it laughing, but with a serious undertone to his voice. Misha smiled at him, touching Dean's arm gently.

"It arrived today, so I got up early in the morning to get it for you, so... Happy late-birthday babe." Misha reached into his pocket, pulling out the key, and giving it to Dean, who rushed to his car. He ran his hand over the cool smooth metal of the Impala's hood and couldn't wipe the grin of his face.

"Oh, baby how I missed you," he whispered to the car, hearing Misha chuckle behind him.

"Man, you've been Dean Winchester for way too long."

Dean ignored the comment, opening carefully the driver's side door. It even made that same creaking sound, though it was a new car, and just made to look like it had been on the road for too many years.

Dean sat on the driver's seat inhaling deep the scent of the leather upholstery. He dimly registered the sound of the shotgun door opening, and Misha getting in too, with him being too busy trying to touch every familiar spot and surface on his car.

"Check this out," Misha said waking Dean from his awe, reaching for the back seat, lifting up the mat on the car floor, to reveal the carved initials beneath it. D.W. and S.W.

Dean stared at it for a moment, feeling that something strong stir inside him, when he finally lifted his gaze to meet Misha's glimmering blue eyes. Dean was left with no words. With no air. He just stared, unable to do anything else. This was just something so eerily beautiful that Dean didn't know what to do. Misha had done this thing knowing and all the same time having no idea how much it would mean to Dean. Just because Misha cared.

The strangling feeling finally eased from his throat and allowed Dean to cough up something. Some words. Not more than a hoarse whisper. Not the words that he would've really wanted to say, but the best ones that he could go with right now.

"Thank you."

Misha smiled, and reached to kiss Dean softly on the lips.

"You're most welcome Jen, but if you're done marveling at it, I suggest that we get to work now, it's already 7.30. But don't you think you're off the hook, we're saving the 'thank you'-sex for later," Misha grinned, leaning back against his seat, and Dean smiled back at him.

"Oh man, I'm counting on it," Dean shot back cockily, not really lying. He started the car, pulling off the driveway listening to the sweet sound of his baby's engine purring.

**...**

The drive went in comfortable silence, with Dean nodding along to some rock song playing on the radio, and Misha burying his nose in his phone, tweeting or what the hell ever he was doing. Dean kept stealing glimpses of the other man every now and then when he didn't need to look at the road. Misha's hair was sleep ruffled and the stubble was just the slightest bit overgrown. There was a hint of a relaxed, happy smile playing on Misha's lips as he stared down at his phone, thumbs moving swiftly over the touch screen. The light of the reddish rising sun shone through the car window, catching in the amazingly blue eyes and Dean admitted that the man was beautiful. Dean had always thought so. He had never admitted it to himself, never given into the denied dark thought, until now, when he finally affirmed, that he had always found Cas beautiful even if Dean had never been one to appreciate the sight of another man in that way. Not that this man was really Cas though.

Dean was beginning to understand it now. What ever feelings or affections he had started to feel, or had been always feeling somewhere deep down, they weren't for Misha. They were for Cas. They had always been for Cas. And that should have made Dean feel bad, that he was using Misha or lying to him, but on the other hand, the love and adoration that Dean could see in Misha's eyes wasn't really for him, but for this Jensen guy. So Dean thought that they kind of canceled each other out.

But just this, being with Misha, touching him, kissing him... It was bringing up all this crap Dean had unconsciously buried deep down long ago. But it wasn't really bothering Dean anymore. He had given in and this time the giving in actually felt like the right thing to do. He had given in because he wanted to, not because he felt like he was supposed to.

And well, the last time he had been about to give in, Dean had gotten the sense knocked back in him by none else than Cas, but this time there was nobody to judge him or blame him. Or to kick his ass. There were no angels, no demons, no post-apocalyptic mess with this Mother of All bitch-what's-her-name. He didn't need to be scared or worried, or go to sleep with a machete under his pillow. That made Dean feel like this, this borrowed, stolen life, was more real, than the messy and crappy one he had waiting for him in his universe. The old life, was beginning to fade, feel dim. And when he looked at the man sitting next to him, he didn't even feel bad about it. Because Dean knew, that this, make-belief life, was as close to happy, as close to what he wanted, as he could ever get.

Hey, he had always been the one to sacrifice himself for somebody. For Sammy, for his family, for the entire world... Didn't he deserve to be selfish and happy because of it, for few lousy moments in his life? In a whole another dimension, where he wasn't hurting anybody? Didn't he?

Dean turned to steal another glance of Misha, exactly the same time that Misha looked up from his phone to meet Dean's eyes. Misha smiled at him gently, and Dean's heart skipped a beat. Yeah, he had totally deserved this.

**...**

Dean saw Sam immediately as he pulled to the studio's parking lot. He was standing by the buildings, apparently waiting for Dean, and he spotted the Impala right away, looking surprised at the car.

Dean killed the engine, getting out of the car with Misha, who finally tucked his phone away. Sam started to walk towards them, but Misha didn't notice him. He just walked around the car, pushing Dean against the driver's door, trapping the hunter between his body and the car, just like yesterday morning. Misha smirked up at Dean's confused face, and kissed him, but today, deeper and with more passion, sneaking his tongue in Dean's mouth between the hunter's lips that were parted by the surprise.

Dean felt the surprise slip away, as he leaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Misha's waist, and smiling against the actor's lips.

Over Misha's shoulder, Dean saw Sam. Standing there, a look of a complete shock and astonishment on his face and for a moment Dean thought about pulling away, and shrugging the kiss off as Misha's fault, but then Dean decided, to hell with it, and used his big brother's privileges to mess with Sam. Or that was one of the reasons. One was too, that he didn't want to break the kiss just yet.

So Dean slid his hands lower, to squeeze Misha's ass firmly. The smaller man let out a small half chuckle, half breathy groan, before he pulled away. Or tried to, because Dean reached forward, snatching Misha's lips into another quick kiss, before letting the man go. Dean ignored the awkward coughing that Sam was desperately producing, and just smiled, staring almost tenderly at Misha. Who unfortunately didn't ignore the coughing, but turned around to stare at blushing Sam, who looked like hadn't ever been so uncomfortable in his whole life.

"Oh, good morning Jared," Misha chirped, smiling politely, as if there was nothing wrong with the situation or nothing there to bother Sam.

Sam just coughed for couple more times before mumbling;

"Yeah, uhm... hi..." and staring, in shock, at Misha and Dean, like they were sprouting extra limbs.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them again. Dean was staring at his shoes, hands buried deep in his pockets, not daring to meet Sam's eyes, because he wasn't sure what he'd see there. So he quickly glanced at Misha instead, and a happy smile spread on the hunter's face.

But then Misha cleared his throat, breaking the tension.

"Okay then... As fun as this is, I gotta go hit the make up trailer, so see you guys later," Misha said, running his hand down along Dean's arm, before he turned and walked off, leaving Dean alone with still pretty shocked Sam.

So now there was just him. And Sam. And the uncomfortable silence.

"Umh... Dude, what the hell?" Sam finally found his vocal chords.

"What?" Dean snapped back at him, daringly. Too bad that he was still kind of smiling, so he ended up looking a little bit deranged.

"You! And, and that Misha guy, what the hell was that?" Sam sounded disbelieving, and Dean just avoided his eyes. He had wanted to mess with his little bro, but he hadn't thought about the fact that he might have to explain a thing or two to Sam after the kiss. Damn him for always acting first without thinking.

Dean shifted awkwardly, scratching his face, looking everywhere else but at Sam, so he missed the horrified look of understanding spread across his little brother's face.

"Oh man, you didn't... you... you did... sleep with him... didn't you?" Sam's voice was quiet, emotionless. Actually more of a statement than a question.

Dean was ready to deny it. To throw back some smart-ass comment, or even yell at Sam for even suggesting such thing, but all he did, was turn his head even further away from Sam, and smile. Smile at the memory of Misha laying beneath him, begging and screaming for his release, the look of lust and love in his darkened beautiful eyes. So Dean smiled. Damn the post-coital bliss.

Sam let out a small whistle.

"Oh wow... Just... When did you go gay all of the sudden? With fake-Cas none the less?" Sam's voice was just dripping with shock and disbelief and Dean could almost taste the sarcastic comeback burning at the back of his mouth to be thrown at Sam, and he could almost feel the shit-eating grin twitching on his lips, but when he finally opened his mouth to defend himself from Sam's unfortunately accurate accusations, it came out just a little bit different than Dean had meant it.

"He can bend his legs behind his head, Sammy. Behind his head! How many _girls_ like that have you met?" the goofy self satisfied grin spread on Dean's face, and Sam went paler than Dean had thought it was humanely possible. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a strangled little sound.

"Dude, please, I'm a little short on the brain bleach right now, if you could hold back the details," he sighed out, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dean let out a small amused huff, but he kept his guard up. There was really no way for him to know how Sam would take this. Sexuality had never been an issue for them to discuss since it had always been clear they were both as straight as they came, so Dean couldn't tell if Sam was going to hate him, or feel disgusted because of this, and that kinda scared Dean.

He didn't really know how to explain this whole freaky situation to Sam without freaking him out even more, or to avoid some awkward chick flick moment with his brother, but Dean was still sure about one thing. As much as this whole mess was starting to make him feel good and happy, he didn't want Sam hating him over it. But when Sam opened his eyes to look at Dean under his brows, Dean noticed with a relief, that Sam didn't seem the least bit disgusted, angry, or judgmental or that he was about to start throwing things or punches. The only thing Dean detected from Sam was more like... worry. There was that look on his face, that he still wanted to say something, but wasn't going to push it, because he also wanted to avoid an argument with Dean. And since Dean was on too good mood to argue too, he didn't press it either.

They were silent for a while, not uncomfortably, but still silent, Sam looking at Dean, up and down, before he broke into a small smile. It did look a little forced, but Dean went with it.

"So... Fake-Cas, huh?" Sam said, the smile turning into something a little more real.

"Shut up," Dean snapped, not really annoyed, but still eying Sam warningly.

"I've seen some pretty strange crap in my time but... Yeah, I think this just out weirded everything," Sam still kept going, halfheartedly mocking Dean, but they both knew Sam wasn't trying to be mean. Dean didn't answer, just glared at Sam, and that worried look flickered on Sam's face again.

"Do... Do we need to talk about this, Dean?" Sam poked the ice with a stick, and Dean quickly shook his head.

"God, no," was all he said, and Sam nodded, satisfied with this for now.

"Actually, I have some good news for change." the younger Winchester changed the subject.

"Great, what?" Dean answered eagerly. He was all in for good news, hell, even for bad ones, because right now, he felt like there was nothing to dampen his spirits.

"The bone thing, well, it arrived this morning," Sam said, fetching a small brown box from his pocket, shaking it in front of Dean, so that he could hear the bone of a lesser saint rattle inside the small container. Suddenly Dean felt like his throat was too tight, and his limbs too heavy.

"So, if you could sneak back to your place, get the rest of the stuff we need and bring it back here, we could do the spell, and be back home before dinner time," Sam continued, sounding enthusiastic about the plan. And Dean knew he should be too. But he wasn't. His good mood was like magically drained away, and he was left with a cold feeling of strange disappointment. Suddenly going home didn't sound as appealing a it had sounded two days ago.

"I... I thought that wouldn't be here before Saturday?" Dean said quietly, vaguely gesturing at the box in Sam's hand. Sam just shrugged, shoving the thing back in his pocket.

"Apparently they sped up the delivery and were able to ship it over a day early... but what does it matter? Dean, this is a good thing, we can get back home now, and we only have to be here and make asses out of ourselves for few more hours, before we're back where we really belong," Sam kept ranting on, but Dean wasn't really listening. No, no, no... He wasn't ready for this, not yet... Well, he wasn't stupid, he knew, he had to go back home sooner or later, sooner being the more obvious option, but still... he had been all charged up to spend at least another day with Misha. He wasn't ready to go back home just yet... But he couldn't explain that to Sam, so he just nodded, agreeing to the plan of him sneaking back to his house on lunch break to get the stuff he had stashed in the hallway closet.

Dean sighed deep, and started walking to their trailers, Sam tailing behind him, and if he hadn't been so caught up by the mixed feelings of going home, he would maybe have found some amusement over the fact how different this morning's parking-lot-discussion-with-Sam had been compared to yesterday's. It was like the whole situation had been turned up side down.

**...**

The day went on like it was supposed to. Awkward half an hour in make up, and then again being forced to be cramped in the fake-livingroom in fake-Bobby's fake-house and being forced to act himself, which Dean sucked at. So his spirits weren't exactly sky high, when they brought Misha to the set, to film some scene with Castiel. But the exact moment when Dean saw the smaller man, with his now cleanly shaved stubble and the angel-clothes on him, walk to the set, Dean's mood was on the rise again.

Misha was in instant Castiel-mode, that voice grumbling from somewhere deep inside of him, and it was all Dean could do, not to jump the man right then and there. So obviously he kept messing up (even more than usually) his every line and what the hell ever he was supposed to do and the directors and what not kept shouting at him, that he wasn't supposed to smile in this scene, that Dean didn't smile, Dean didn't look that happy, and Dean wasn't exactly known to have the mouth of a choirboy, but he rarely used the f-word, but now... now when he shamelessly stared at Cas in front of him, smiling at the memory of last night, he felt light telling the filming crew to go fuck themselves. Why he couldn't be happy? Was it his crappy destiny, or some other shit like that, to be always in pain, to be always unhappy, while sacrificing himself for someone else, or for the goddamn greater good? No, fuck that. Fuck it. Why couldn't he be happy?

**...**

They finished the scene and called the lunch break. Dean stormed off the set and back to the parking lot. His head was a mess, and he didn't really know what was going on in there. He felt tired. That was about all he knew. He had experienced more about himself and more feelings during these past few days than he had maybe during his whole lifetime. First he's smacked in the middle of a life of his parallel dimension-self, who is gay. Then he finds out that he himself, from his own dimension, is gay, at least on some level... Well maybe gay was too heavy word for it right now, but Dean was too tired to start messing with the shades of gray (or shades of gay, ha, ha, ha.) right now, so he went with it. And he finds out that his parallel dimension-self is in a relationship with parallel dimension-Cas. Whom Dean then sleeps with, opening a whole another box of crap, with his denied feelings for his own dimension-Cas and now Dean is supposed to just go back home? After all this? God, he wasn't even sure if he can look Cas in the eyes anymore.

It was so much easier to bury this mess and not think about it, when Dean hadn't even actually realized that he had feelings for Cas. But now... the idea of going home, and being around the real Cas again, looking him, smelling him, sometimes accidentally touching him... Dean didn't know if he could handle it, and this whole thing was becoming scary for him again.

And on top of this all, he hated it, that this mess was making him feel like some douche bag Romeo from a badly written chick movie.

Dean sighed, fumbling with his car key for a while, before unlocking the door and getting in. And almost getting a heart attack, when the passenger side door opened and someone got in beside him too.

"Dude, you just scared the crap out of me!" Dean hissed, rubbing his face with his both hands to prevent himself from seeing the mischievously grinning Castiel-look-a-like on the shotgun.

"Well I had to do something to get your attention, since running after you and shouting at you for five minutes didn't do anything. Where you going?" Misha said casually, leaning against the door, his eyes flicking over Dean's body genuine curiosity in is voice.

"Umm, yeah, just you know... home. Gotta pick up something," Dean muttered, trying to avoid Misha's eyes all the while signaling to Misha in every way there was, that this wasn't a lunch invitation and that the man should get the hell out of Dean's car.

"Okay then, I could eat at home. I think we still have that yoghurt-thing left from last week," Misha's voice was conversational as he kept rambling on, and Dean realized that there was no way, he was going to get the man out of the car, so he had no other choice, than bring Misha with him. Great.

The drive went with Misha babbling on and on about every unimportant thing about his day from the bitterness of his morning coffee to the way he scraped his elbow when he tripped on some camera wires and Dean just drove in silence, listening to the white noise of Misha's nonsense.

When they finally were back at their house, and Dean was headed for the closet he had stashed the spell-thingies in, Misha decided that it was time for another relationship talk.

"You're awfully quiet."

Dean sighed, and turned to face Misha, who actually looked concerned, and that's when it hit Dean. That this might be his last chance. To touch that face, or to kiss those lips. Or to say what he really felt like.

Dean sighed again.

"C'mere," he reached out his hand, which Misha took without hesitation. Dean led the man through the hallway to the livingroom, sitting Misha down on the couch next to him.

Dean took his time, just staring at Misha's face. It wasn't like this was going to be the last time ever he was going to see it, but Dean was pretty sure that this was going to be his last chance to marvel that little mischievous smile playing on Cas' lips.

"Jen, what's going on?" Misha asked, sounding unsure, and he was starting to squirm under Dean's observing eyes.

"I... uh," Dean needed to say it. At least once. Out loud. He needed to hear himself say it, and this was maybe his final chance.

"I, uh... Would you miss me?" he finally got out. It still wasn't what he had wanted to say, but he felt like after all this he couldn't just blurt it out. Misha looked confused. He sat up straighter, a little alarmed.

"What do you mean?" Dean sighed.

"I mean would you miss me... If I... I don't know... went away?" he knew it was a stupid thing to ask, because there was no way Misha would ever understand what Dean meant, but he kinda wanted to know.

"Of course I would. Why, what's going on? You going somewhere?"

Like Dean had thought, Misha didn't get it. Well, he couldn't really. He didn't know his boyfriend wasn't really his boyfriend but Dean, who had found some greater feelings in himself because of Misha. But somehow Dean just needed to know, that if Misha had made such changes in Dean's life, had he made any changes in Misha's.

"No, that's not what I mean... I mean... Would you miss _me_?" Dean emphasized the 'me' word, and Misha just furrowed his brow, reaching out his hand, and placing it on Dean's knee, gazing deep into Dean's dirty green eyes.

"Hell yeah I would miss you. Jensen, what's this about?" Misha looked confused as hell and maybe even a little bit scared. Poor guy probably thought that Dean was breaking up with him in some strange, cruel way. But Dean sighed, giving up. He looked down at his lap for a moment, smiling sadly at his hands resting on his thighs.

Misha shifted again, and Dean finally looked up, meeting the actor's worried, blue eyes. And Dean lost himself for a moment. Now or never.

"I love you."

It was a silent grunt, more like air escaping Dean's lungs than an actual sentence, but it was understandable. It was out there, and now that Dean really heard it, voiced out loud, and hanging heavily between them, it seemed more real. Raw. True. And the tight feeling of that something dark and long ago denied burst in Dean's chest, like a some greater understanding or enlightenment. And it kinda pissed off Dean, when the feeling felt so easy and simple after all this fighting and crappy freaking out.

So he reached out and drowned the annoyance in the kiss he pulled Misha in. He did it quickly, not wanting to hear Misha say the words back to him, because he knew it really meant nothing. It wasn't the same. It wasn't really Cas. And even if saying his declaration of undying gay-love to Misha had made things oh, so much clearer and easier, in a manner of speaking, to him, it didn't ease the numb feeling inside Dean, that telling this man he loved him, didn't really mean anything, since this man wasn't to the heart and soul, the man, or angel if you will, whom Dean actually loved.

The kiss was heated and needy, Dean biting down hard on Misha's bottom lip, making the other man growl with desire. But when Misha leaned closer to Dean, trying to push the hunter to lay down on his back, Dean pulled away, drawing small disappointed sound from Misha.

Dean looked deep into those insanely blue eyes, looking for something. A familiar head tilt, or a squint of eyes, but he found neither, and all he got in response was a breathy whisper from Misha.

"I love you too Jen." That almost made Dean groan in disappointment.

"Now, would you tell me what the hell is going on? You're kinda freaking me out," Misha laughed, sounding unsure, lifting his hands to hold Dean's face between them.

Dean broke into a small smile, looking into those amused, but still concerned eyes, and raised his own hands to cover Misha's.

"Nah, it's good. Don' worry, okay? I actually gotta run. Go back to the set, you know. I just came to pick up some stuff. You don't mind if I take the Impala? You can take the Toyota?" Dean asked mumbling as he pulled away from Misha as he got off the couch, and started to head back for the hallway. He turned around to look at Misha, to see him nod his head, watching after Dean. Then the mischievous grin spread wide across that face again, and the actor eyed Dean up and down, with a suggestive glint in his eyes.

"You sure you don't have five minutes?" Dean had heard some indicating tones in his time, but that took the pot. Dean grinned back at Misha, but shook his head none the less.

"Sorry, I really don't. Besides, five minutes is nowhere nearly enough time with you," and he actually winked at Misha, which made the actor laugh out loud at him.

"So sweet. When did I start actually dating a woman?" Misha teased and Dean smiled back at him.

"Shut up," he said, not really meaning it.

Dean turned around and started walking off again, but when he was at the hallway door, something caught his eye. He walked back again, but this time to the kitchen.

Dean stood in front of the refrigerator, staring at the photo taped to its door. His own, but not really his own face, smiling happily at him, holding hands with Cas but not really Cas. Dean sighed again, heavily, for what felt like the thousand time in the last ten minutes. That was a moment in "his" life, a moment he'd give anything to have, to be normal, to be happy, but what he was never getting.

Suddenly, out on an impulse, Dean reached out, and ripped the photo off the door. Without a second thought, Dean stuffed it in his pocket and turned to walk away, yet again.

In the hallway, Dean rummaged through the closet, and got out the plastic bag with the spell items. He took one last moment to look around the small house, not really sure what he was feeling, or what he was even supposed to feel. It was a strange situation, missing something he never really had. Dean slumped his shoulders, opening the door to step outside, when he heard Misha call after him from somewhere in the house.

"See you later tonight, babe!"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pausing at the doorway.

"Yeah, see you later," he lied.

**...**

**A/N:** As you can see, I didn't cover the anti-possession tattoo and the hand-brand thingie on this chap, so I'm going with an excellent idea I got from one of you super-sweet-awesome readers, that Dean is really in Jensen's body and in this dimension he doesn't really have those. Thank you, who suggested it! Step up and claim your honor! (8

Oh, and I just have to say, that this whole Misha buying Jensen a replica of the impala, is starting to bug me, because the more I think about it, the more I've come to think, that even if Dean loves that car, Jensen wouldn't be caught dead in it. The impala just isn't Jensen. So I don't think Misha would ever buy him that... Just something that occurred to me. What do you think?

But no, I'm not changing that anymore in the story. It is and it sticks in there. (x


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** So yeah, this one came out pretty quickly. I'm not sure how I feel about this one, I guess it's okay, I didn't have any major problems with this one, except that until this chapter it's mostly been free writing, but now I had to actually watch The French Mistake episode in two second bits to get the dialogue and all that stuff right... It's annoying, but still kind of fun.

But okay so... about the poll, thank you all, who took the time out of their busy days to answer it, I appreciate it, very much, but... umh...

Oh boy, are you lot gonna hate me in a moment...

**...**

**Chapter 7.**

"So did you get the stuff?" Sam was crowding him at the second Dean showed up on the set, that was pretending to be Bobby's livingroom. Dean tried to swat Sam back, keeping the ridiculously tall man off his face, as he dumped his bag on the writing desk.

"Yes, I got the stuff, just hurry up, before somebody comes in and sees us," Dean snarled, shoving the big mixing bowl in Sam's hands, slumping back to sit on the chair behind the desk. Dean was irritated, and he knew Sam noticed it, but hell if Dean was going to bring up what was bothering him. Hell if he was going to tell Sam that he was feeling ultimately pissed off because here Dean had a relationship with a fake-version of his best friend or whatever, whom Dean was secretly in love with, like a twelve year old girl, and he was now annoyed that he had to leave this dimension with the relationship, to go back home and have an awkward friendship because of all this with the said guy. Because even Dean knew how messed up that sounded. But just because Dean wasn't bringing it up, didn't mean that Sam wouldn't either.

"Okay dude, chill. What's with the attitude?" Sam asked, starting to prepare the spell. Dean just rolled his eyes, huffing in annoyance.

"Nothing, let's just get this over with."

And Sam had that look again. Like he wanted to still say something, but didn't, to avoid an argument. So Sam kept working in silence, while Dean tried to silence all the hammering screwed up feelings screaming on inside his head. He had been able to suppress them before so damn him, if he couldn't do it again.

Sam finally finished, handing the bowl to Dean, but when Dean reached to grab it, Sam didn't let go of it, but just stared at Dean sharply. Dean raised his eyebrows, trying to yank the bowl free.

Sam didn't let go. He just stared.

Dean yanked again.

Nothing.

"Dude, What! ?" Dean finally gave in, snapping at Sam, who still had his goddamn death grip on the bowl.

"You know that this... what ever it is, isn't about Misha, right?" Sam's voice was careful, but he didn't lower his eyes. Dean's expression hardened, as he growled at Sam.

"Don't go there."

"You know it's about Cas, right?"

"Sam, I mean it."

"Dean, come on, I'm not stupid, I get it. I was just thinking that..." but what he was really thinking, Sam never got out, because Dean interrupted him.

"You were thinking that maybe we could talk about this? Huh? That what you were gonna say? You think, that after all this crap, saying it out loud, is somehow gonna make it better? Talking doesn't really fix things Sam, all it's gonna do, is make me think about this even more, and already my head is in constant danger of exploding, over how much I keep thinking about it," Dean almost shouted, and Sam looked taken a back a little.

"I just thought that I could help. Dean this is killing you, I can see it," Sam said with a small voice, and Dean let out a long wavering breath.

"I know you think you've got this thing somehow figured out, but you can't you help me, when I can't even explain this crap to you, because even I don't really understand this whole thing," Dean said, finally yanking the bowl out of Sam's hand. But still, it seemed like Sam wasn't finished with torturing Dean about this.

"I just... I wanna make sure that you're really coming back. That's you're not doing anything stupid, Dean," Sam sounded grim, his green eyes, so much like Dean's, drilling into the back of his brother's head. Dean, who had turned to the window, and started to draw the sigil on it, spun around, spreading his arms out in annoyance.

"Coming back where, Sam?" he huffed. Sam was silent for a second.

"Back home, Dean," his voice was quiet and Dean could see the sadness in Sam's eyes. Dean couldn't believe it.

"Like I have a choice," he grunted, turning his back to Sam again, continuing the drawing.

"Would... Would you want a choice?" Sam sounded careful, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to talk about this. Which, actually in Dean's opinion, he wasn't.

"Sam, shut up! What part of 'I don't wanna talk about this' you don't get?" Dean snapped, finishing the sigil. He threw the rag he had used to make it on the floor, and set the bowl down on the desk. Dean leaned on the table with his hands, hanging his head low.

"I'm not gonna do anything stupid. Of course I'm coming back," he said, after a while, but didn't lift his head to face Sam. He could hear Sam shifting in his place, like the man wanted to say something, but not sure what.

"I know I can't stay here," Dean kept going, his voice small and broken.

"Hell... I'm not even sure if I want to, but it's just..." he didn't know how to finish. Luckily Sam did it for him.

"But you don't really wanna go back home, back into being miserable."

Dean lift his head, to see Sam still staring at him. Sam had that annoying look of understanding on his face, which Dean kind of just wanted to slap off his face, but on the same time, he was really thankful for a brother like Sam. Sam kind of got how Dean felt, even if Dean couldn't really understand it himself, like he had said.

"Yeah," Dean whispered, pushing himself of the desk, and turning back to the window.

"Dean, you're sure, you don't want to..."

"Sam, no! I don't wanna talk about this! Let it go," Dean scowled. He could almost feel Sam's eyes boring into his back.

"Come on, let's just get this over with," he continued, stepping back from the window, moving the couch out of the way. Sam nodded at him, stepping back as well.

They stood there, side by side, in fake-Bobby's fake-livingroom, crouched forward, ready to run through some fake-glass.

"You ready?" Sam asked.

"As much as I'll ever be," Dean answered, even though he wanted to go with the honest 'no' that was screaming away in his head.

"Okay, on three then?" Sam asked and Dean nodded in his turn. Sam counted down, and when he reached three, they started running.

The distance between them and the window was hardly more than five feet, but the run it took for Dean to reach the glass and jump through it felt like hours. All the torturing thoughts that had agonized him all day, hammering away inside his head had suddenly gone dead silent and Dean could hear his own blood rushing in his ears. The only lonely thought that crossed his mind in a flash before he smashed through the window was a sadly echoing 'Well, here it goes', after which he hit the ground, hard.

Dean heard Sam make a series of muffled 'uuff'-sounds as the taller man fell down beside him. Dean had drawn up his arms to protect his head from the flying glass and from the ground he was smashed to, and he had squeezed his eyes shut, breathing shallow through his nose, grunting when the pain of the landing hit him.

"Auh, that one hurt," Dean groaned, rolling over on the ground, but not getting up. He didn't dare to open his eyes or get up. He didn't want to see Bobby's house looming over them with the broken window they had fallen through. He didn't want to get up and be back. He didn't want to be back in the same dimension with the real Cas again. But still... That was all he kinda wanted.

"What the hell?"

Sam's voice was so full of confusion and disappointment, that Dean opened his eyes anyway.

He didn't see Bobby's house, or his unkept yard, or the scrapyard anywhere. He saw the fake-wall of the Bobby's livingroom set, tiny little pieces of plastic everywhere, from the broken window 'glass', and he saw extremely confused and weirded out director and camera man standing right in front of him and Sam. Sam was already halfway getting up from the ground, smiling awkwardly at the two dumbfounded men, trying furiously come up with some excuse for him and Dean.

And Dean just kept laying there. Down on the ground, still loosely holding his head, taking in the realization, that the spell hadn't worked.

Dean couldn't believe that it was possible to feel this relieved and disappointed at the same time.

**...**

"Maybe we did it wrong," Sam said sitting down at the table by the trailer window. Dean closed the door after himself, shaking his head slightly.

"No. That... that spell was perfect, it should've worked," Dean answered sitting down too, opposite of Sam. He knew it was damn stupid, but there was a part of him, that was more than relieved that the spell hadn't worked.

Dean furrowed his brow, staring at piece of paper with the sigil on it. It was actually kind of more worrying, if the spell had been right. Because then, why hadn't it worked?

"What if we can't?" Sam said suddenly, voice not giving away anything. Dean lift his eyes to meet Sam's concerned ones, waiting for an elaboration.

"Look," Sam said, shifting on his seat.

"I was up, all night, looking online. There's no sign that anything like the apocalypse happened here. Ever. And as far as I can tell, monsters, ghosts, demons... They're all pretend," he continued, staring at Dean, like he was looking for some kind of specific response from his older brother. But Dean just stared back, like he was waiting for Sam to call the whole thing off as a joke.

"So nobody's hunting them?" Dean asked after a short silence, not believing what Sam was saying.

"No hunters," Sam emphasized, like he was talking to a five year old. But instead of getting annoyed at Sam, Dean just gave him the 'confused-face', tilting his head little. Just something he had picked up from Cas.

"So maybe that's why the spell didn't work, Dean. Maybe, you know, here there's... no supernatural. No magic," Sam explained, his face wrinkled by the furrows of worry. Worry of never getting back home. The message was finally sinking in for Dean.

"No demons, no hell, no heaven... no... no God?" he still had to ask, just to make sure he got it right.

"Something like," Sam said, sounding grim and shrugging. Then he huffed with a humorless amusement.

"Even better... no angels."

Dean turned to stare out of the trailer window.

"Yeah, that's just great."

Sam realized what he had said, but he couldn't take it back anymore.

**...**

They were just walking around the studios and sets, not actually going anywhere, more like just trying to avoid everybody. All the while trying to figure out, what the hell to do now.

"Maybe we can't get out of, you know, Earth number two right now, but I really wish that at least we could get the hell out of the Canadian part of it," Dean said after a long silence that seemed to stretch on between them after Sam's last comment about the angels.

"Yeah," Sam huffed agreeing, smiling slightly at Dean.

"I hear one more conversation about hockey and I'm gonna puke," Dean continued, his bitter joking actually relieving some of the tension between him and Sam.

They squabbled briefly at some maze-looking-like-set over where they should go in order to get out of there, when Dean, stubborn as he was, took off in the direction he thought was right, even if Sam was calling after him, that the way he was going was the right one. But Dean didn't get far, when he heard the startled and warning shout of Sam behind him.

"Dean!"

It caused him to spun around, and the older Winchester was stunned for a moment, staring right into the cruel unforgiving eyes of Virgil. How in the hell had the son of a bitch found them?

"You think you can run?" his voice was emotionless but just slightly mocking, as he reached out his hand to grab Dean by his forehead to smite the man right where he stood. Dean had no chance, no time to react, and all Sam could do either was shout out a terrified 'NO!'.

But the most curious thing happened. Nothing.

Even Virgil seemed fazed by this turn of events, bringing his hand up to his face, examining it with a look of confusion, like the problem must be in his hand.

Now it only took Dean a second to realize that he wasn't dying, and that this clown had nothing over him. The hunter gave the perplexed looking angel a quick cocky smile.

"Sorry dude. Mojo free-zone," he said casually, before he drew back his hand, clenched in a tight fist, and smashed it into Virgil's face as hard as he could. It felt so good to be able to finally lash out all that confusion inside him, and turn that emotional roller coaster of his into pure anger and hate, and just getting to beat the living crap out of somebody with it. After these days of feeling totally out of control over his life, he was in control of this, doing what he actually knew how to do.

"No magic in the house," Sam came up behind Dean, he now mocking the powerless angel.

"Which makes you nothing but a dick," Dean finished the chat, punching Virgil again.

Virgil got some punches in too, hey the dude still was an angel, even if he was now a useless one, but when Sam and Dean ganged up on a mojoless angel, you didn't need to be a genius to know, that they totally kicked Virgil's currently plucked ass.

That was, until they were interrupted, of course. Suddenly all these guys were grabbing Dean and Sam, pulling them away from the angel hit-man, and even if they struggled with their best effort, there were just too many guys. Virgil fumbled with something for a split second in front of Sam, before he turned on his heels, and ran.

Dean felt the rage he had built up in his chest for Virgil for many reasons, such as forcing them to be in this screwed up dimension in the first place, trying to kill them, and threatening Cas' life back in their universe, boil up, as he shouted after the quickly escaping man.

"I'll break your freaking neck!"

Which might have been just a little bit more threatening, if he hadn't been held back by a tiny balding guy in a Hawaiian shirt.

**...**

Dean couldn't believe it. Well yeah, they had their and maybe someone else's share of bad luck, but this was just getting absurd.

The key was missing. Virgil had more than likely snatched it from Sam's pocket when they were fighting earlier. But that wasn't all of it.

Virgil was now missing too. Dean and Sam had looked all over the sets but the constipated looking angel was nowhere to be found. It even stressed Dean up to the point, where he actually went on and admitted who he and Sam really were, to some douchey director, apparently going by the name of Bobby Singer for Christ's sake, to avoid being stuck with yet another fat, bald man and a talk about their recent weird acting. But it didn't really matter, since the guy only thought that Dean was having some sort of an mental breakdown.

So yeah, Dean was a little stressed. Even more than he had been. Because he had been stressed for obvious reasons for the past few days, but now, there was more to be added to the mess than just being stuck in a wrong dimension, screwing up his friendship with Castiel, by screwing fake-Castiel, now there was also the homicidal angel MIA, _with_ the key to the heaven weapons on his run back to Raphael. This wasn't about Dean's personal problems, similar to a 12 year old love sick girl, but now there were actual human lives at steak. Shit-loads of them.

But still, somehow, all Dean could think was, what would happen when Virgil would reach Raphael with the weapons. The dick would torch Cas alive. And that twisted something cold and nauseating in Dean's stomach, and it was only a thought. There actually wasn't a way of really knowing if Virgil even knew how to get back to their own reality, but that was risk Dean wasn't willing to take. They had to find him.

"We've looked everywhere Dean, he's not here," Sam finally said with a voice of desperation, after hours of search. They had been all over the set, knowing for some time now, that Virgil wasn't there anymore, but both men too desperate to give up just yet, because if Virgil wasn't at the set anymore there was no telling where he could've gone. It was getting dark, and Virgil was nowhere to be found, so Sam finally voiced out the thought that they both had been thinking for the past two hours.

"Yeah, I know," Dean gave in, stopping. He grunted, closing his eyes, and leaning back against someones trailer.

"So what do we do now?" he continued, lifting his gaze to stare at Sam.

"I don't know," Sam sighed, glancing around himself, like he was half expecting Virgil to pop up somewhere.

"Dude, really anything," Dean prompted, and Sam's eyes snapped back to him.

"Dean, I don't know, he could be anywhere. There's no telling where he might have zapped himself, if he even is in this dimension anymore," Sam explained gravely. They fell silent, both feverishly trying to come up with something, anything. They had to find Virgil and stop him.

Sam's face furrowed suddenly. It was that look he got, when he was figuring something out.

"Hey, you've seen Misha around today? After lunch, I mean?" Sam's voice was unsure, but Dean just rolled his eyes at Sam.

"Really? You think this is the best time to bring that up?" Dean glared at his little brother, who just shook his head quickly.

"No, that's not what I mean, I'm not trying to piss you off, just tell me, have you seen him?" Sam voice was raised, and he sounded a little panicked so Dean was getting angsty too.

"No, I haven't seen him. Not since I left the house."

"But he did come back to the set later, didn't he?"

"Yeah, I think so, why?" Dean was now also annoyed, he wanted to know what Sam was getting at.

Sam swallowed down hard, looking at Dean warily.

"Well, think about it. He looks exactly like Cas, what if Virgil ran into him? We're here, so he might think that Cas is too..." Sam trailed off, looking carefully at Dean, waiting for the words to sink in.

And when they sunk in, the mere idea of it felt like an freezing iron fist had curled tight around Dean's chest, preventing him from breathing, preventing him from doing anything. It was like he had been rooted to his spot.

Misha might be dead. Because of him.

It rang in his ears, in his head, like thousand burning hot needles.

Dean fumbled furiously with his pockets, fishing out finally his phone. With white knuckles, he dialed Misha's number, pressing the phone flat against his ear, still holding his breath.

He had to pick up, he had to.

A beep. Another one. Third. The moment seemed to stretch on forever, and suddenly Dean felt unreal. Like he was floating out of his body. But that might have just been the lack of oxygen because he was still holding his breath. So he let out a long shuddering exhale, that was cut off, when he heard that familiar gruff voice on the other end of the line. Dean let a woozy smile of relief spread on his face for a split second.

"Hey, this is Misha, for some odd reason I'm not able to pick up, so leave a..."

Dean hung up, almost hysteric.

"Voicemail. Now what?" Sam shrugged, he too looking fairly anxious now. Dean looked around himself, like now he was the one, expecting to see Misha walk around the corner.

"Okay, you stay here, check his trailer, check if anyone has seen him, check everything," and Dean was running off, in the general direction of the parking lot.

"Where are you going? !" Sam shouted after him.

"I'm going back to the house, see if he went there!" Dean shouted back, but not turning, not stopping, or even slowing down.

He drove away from the studio, tires screeching. And he probably also broke every traffic law known to man. Not that he ever really cared, but this time specially, he couldn't give a damn about the stupid speed limits or traffic lights. This was Cas' life, they were talking about. Misha's!

**…**

Dean slammed on the brakes, briefly relieved that he didn't smash in through the house wall, bringing the car in a abrupt, screeching halt. He practically flew out of the car, running to the front door. The lights were out. That couldn't be a good sign. But then again, Misha could have gone to sleep, it was already late. During the normally 20 minute ride, now suppressed into 8 minutes, the night had fallen, and it was completely dark now.

Dean contemplated on kicking the door in, but he was surprisingly enough able to find the key to open the door.

The hallway was dark, and nobody answered Dean, when he called out for Misha, wishing more than anything to hear the man call back. To see the actor sitting on the livingroom couch, looking up at Dean with his insanely blue eyes and that mischievous smile.

But the house was dark and empty and unwelcoming, and fear was taking a hold of Dean, nesting in the pit of his stomach, scratching away in the back of his mind, panic and worry just making him want to puke.

Dean slumped down on the couch, letting his head fall in to his hands. He needed to cool it.

Nothing was sure. They couldn't know, if Virgil had really found Misha, they couldn't even know, if Virgil would take his revenge on Cas out on Misha if he had found the actor, so Dean needed to calm himself down. It was weird. Dean didn't usually let his emotions or feelings, or what the hell ever affect him on the 'job', but this time... Just the idea that there was a chance, that Misha's (or Cas') life was in danger, and Dean was climbing the damn walls here.

It actually kind of worried Dean, how much of an impact that man, or well.. angel had over him.

But right now, what he needed to do, was keep his head clear. He was no use to Misha, or Cas, or Sam if he kept flipping out like this. He needed to relax and focus.

He'd stay here and wait. Maybe Misha was running late on the set and would be home later. Yeah, that was probably it.

The eerie silence was suddenly disturbed when the startling sharp ring tone of Dean's phone cut through it, and the hunter let out an uncharacteristically feminine shriek.

Attempting to steady his heart, Dean ruffled through his pockets, trying to find the little persistently ringing bugger that nearly caused Dean to have yet another a heart attack. The caller ID said unknown number, and Dean contemplated for a moment to not answer it, but then again, it might be Sam, with news. Dean pressed the answer button.

"Yeah?"

"Mr. Jensen Ackles?"

It took Dean a moment to think if that was one of his aliases, until he realized that it was actually 'his name'.

"Yes, this is he," Dean answered carefully to the mystery caller.

"Mr. Ackles, this is detective Manners from the Vancouver police department, and I'm sorry to call you this late."

Dean was dumbfounded. Why was some cop calling him?

"No problem, officer. So... what's this about?"

"I am... very sorry. But we need you to come down and identify a corpse."

Manners still said something after that, but Dean didn't hear it. The phone slipped from his hand, dropping to the floor with a too loud clattering sound, that was left echoing through the house.

**...**

**A/N2: **So... Sorry? But I'm guessing most of you saw this coming.

But! Fear not my fellow Destiel shippers, for now I may quote a wise man, who once said that;

"Just because characters seem to be dead doesn't mean they stay that way."

And another thing. I just realized that this pre-Destiel thing that was supposed to be like one or two chapter long, got stretched on for seven goddamn chapters! : o

I mean, I wasn't supposed to start any random Misha/Dean ship and stick with it like this, because this is and always will be a Destiel fic! : D But, if you want a spoiler...

The boys will be returning home in the next chapter. (8

Finally.

And finally, thank you, who will keep reading this, even after now that Misha is (at least seems to be) dead. Thank you so much!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** If the last one came out quickly, then how about this? Phew... I think this was like two days job, and sadly, you can see it.

But I just had to get this out of my system, since I was itching to bring the boys back home, because I too missed the real-Cas. (x

But now comes the harder part of this story... I really don't got this 'back home'-part figured out yet, but it'll come to me eventually, I think, so you'll just have to be a little more patient with me about the updates from now on, okay?

But here, have a sad, sad chapter.

**...**

**Chapter 8.**

Dean was numb. Like he was on autopilot, floating out side of his body. Like he wasn't really there. Anywhere else, but there.

Someone lifted the yellow police tape, to let him walk stiffly to that alleyway. He didn't even remember how he'd gotten there. He had a time void between the moment he heard his cellphone clatter against the floor of the house, and the moment he realized he stood there on that dark, wet alley.

There were lot of polices swarming around, checking the place, none of them really caring about the blank, still, man just standing there. Staring. At the body lying by the dumpsters, covered with a white sheet. A long red stripe of dried blood on it.

Dean felt the color drain away from his face. He wanted to throw up. This couldn't really be happening. It couldn't be Misha, it just couldn't. But then again, who else would it be?

Dean's legs were like lead. He remembered the hurry which he had getting here, but now that he was here... there was no force in this universe, or in his own, to make him walk that distance up to the body, just laying there on the cold, wet ground.

"Mr. Ackles?"

Dean spun around to face a man in a police uniform, looking at him, the pity clear in his eyes.

"Yeah?" Dean croaked, his voice thick and heavy.

"I'm detective Manners, we spoke on the phone," the man clarified, holding out his hand. Dean didn't take it. Manners retrieved his hand, clearing his throat.

"I am very sorry, sir. Are you ready to identify the corpse?" Manners continued, gesturing towards the body, which Dean couldn't take his eyes of. Even when the detective was talking to him, Dean kept glancing oven his shoulder, and as ridiculous as it was, hoping more than anything, that the actor under that sheet would just suddenly sit up, throw the bloody sheet away, and yell 'Gotcha!' and they could all just pretend this to be some cruel, sick joke.

But the body remained still.

Dean closed his eyes, and nodded to Manners. He didn't think he could talk anymore. His throat had closed up, preventing him from that, and from breathing again. But Manners just nodded back to him.

"This way," the man said, leading Dean over to the body. They knelt down beside it, even if Dean didn't want to go anywhere near it. It was so strange. He had seen many dead bodies before, and it had never really bothered him that much, death was just something he knew how to deal with as depressing as that was. But... the idea of seeing the cold lifeless face of Cas beneath that sheet... Dean felt something inside of him shatter into million tiny little pieces.

"Ready?" Manners asked, voice quiet and respecting. Dean shook his head.

"You need a minute?" Manners asked, but Dean just shook his head again.

And Manners pulled the sheet down.

Dean heard a small pained wheeze fill the air, and he realized it had escaped from him. He stared down at an image he knew, would no doubt haunt him for the rest of his life, and no amount of booze or sulking would ever ease the memory of this moment.

Misha laid there, blood splatters on his otherwise peaceful face. His eyes were closed, and if it wasn't for the cleanly slit throat, Dean would've been convinced that the man was just sleeping.

But he was dead. And it was Dean's fault. He felt like such a failure. He should have been there. He should have protected him. If it wasn't for Dean, he would still be alive.

A small gnawing, cruel thought clawed it's way in Dean's brain, as he stared down, blankly at the dead man. Dean didn't deserve to be happy. This was what happened to people, when Dean was happy. He caused nothing but pain and suffering to those around him. To good people, who didn't deserve this fate. To people he loved.

Dean just so hoped, that the dead man's eyes had been open. He just wished he would have been able to see the amazingly blue eyes, even if now dead and dull, when he asked for forgiveness. It would've felt so much more real, if they would have been open, when he reached out to touch the cold face, tracing his fingers over the dead skin.

"I'm so sorry..." he whispered, his voice breaking in the middle of his sentence, knowing that pleading forgiveness from the dead man did nothing to ease the stabbing pain and the consuming feeling of emptiness inside of him.

"I take it, that that's him?" Manners asked, reminding Dean of the fact that the detective was still there.

Dean turned to look at the man, who was offering him a tissue. Dean took it, with a slight confusion, until he realized it. He had started crying. Without even noticing it.

Warm salty tears, one after another were rolling down on his otherwise blank face. Dean wiped his eyes, turning back to the body laying next to him on the damp ground. Dean let his eyes wander along the man's body, nodding after a while.

"Yeah, it's him," he finally grunted with a suffocated voice.

"My condolences," Manners nodded in his turn, reaching out to the sheet to pull it back up over the dead man's face, when Dean stopped him.

"Please... can, can you give me minute?" Dean asked, his eyes pleading. Manners thought it over for a second, before he shrugged, letting go of the sheet. He stood up and started walking away, in the direction of some other cops.

"Just cover him up after you're done, okay?" Manners called after him, and Dean contemplated for a second to let the man know he was an insensitive prick, but then he let it go, turning back to the lifeless man, laying in front of him.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, before he opened them again. He was still dead. Not like Dean was expecting him to be any different, but he was expecting for the throbbing pain in him to stop. Or even to ease a little bit. It didn't.

Dean wanted to yell. Or throw up. He didn't know what to do. His head felt empty. He felt empty. He had few times almost had his heart literally ripped out of his chest, and he'd rather experience that again than this. Physical pain he could deal with but this... He had never really felt anything like this.

It was similar to the numbing pain he had felt when their dad had died, but still it was completely different. This was sharper, it cut into him deeper. It was almost paralyzing. And it was scary as hell.

Dean reached out for the dead man's hand under the sheet. He gripped it tight, letting out a small whimper.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered again, hoping for the pain to ease this time. But it still didn't. Maybe he just deserved it. After all, this was his fault.

Dean was startled when he felt a large, heavy hand on his shoulder. His turned his head quickly, to see Sam standing there, behind him, crouching down and holding a comforting hand on his big brother's shoulder.

Right about now, Dean was glad about the fact that it was a dark alley, and there might be a chance, that Sam wouldn't see that he had been crying.

"How did you know to get here?" Dean croaked, pretty satisfied with himself, that he was able to sound normal, his voice not breaking, or not sounding too thick.

Sam smiled at him sadly, glancing down at the body, over Dean's shoulder.

"I was at the set. Genevieve called me. Thought you might be here as well," Sam explained.

"Yeah, yeah, Raphael, like the ninja-turtle, he was calling somebody called Raphael up in heaven."

Sam turned his head quickly to look the source of that sentence. Dean just turned his eyes back to the dean man. Sam easily spotted the homeless man rambling on about Raphael to some cop, who obviously was thinking that the man was either drunk, or crazy, or quite possibly both.

"Dean..." Sam said, gesturing towards the babbling homeless man.

"You go," Dean scowled, not even taking his eyes of the body in front of him. Sam huffed at him, clearly annoyed and worried, but didn't say anything. He just got up and walked over to the hobo to question him about what he had seen.

Dean just squeezed the cold, lifeless hand in his own, running his thumb over the back of the hand. Dean couldn't let go of him. Not yet.

Sam came back after some time, Dean didn't know how long it had been, but Sam looked like they were now in a hurry, so obviously he had found out something.

"We got a lead on Virgil," Sam stated, not really stopping by Dean, he tried to just keep on walking. He was expecting Dean to just jump up and run off with him. Which he didn't do. Dean didn't even move. He sat just there, down by the dead body, stroking it's hand.

"Dude, come on! We gotta get back to the set, apparently Raphael is going to reach through the window Virgil came through and bring him and the key home!" Sam tried, walking back up to Dean, confused and now very much annoyed too. Dean was sort of freaking him out.

"I can't just leave him here, Sammy," Dean's voice was quiet and hoarse. And Sam just couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"What?"

"I can't leave him, Sam. He's dead because of me, I screwed up, I can't just leave him like this..." Sam could hear the tears in Dean's voice.

"I... I love him. And he's dead because I screwed up..." Dean kept ranting on, his voice barely more than just a whisper. But Sam had enough.

"Dean, wake up! That's not Cas! He is just some dude you met few days ago! He's. Not. Cas! But the real Cas is gonna be dead too, and our whole world is toasted, if we don't get our asses moving and stop Virgil, before Raphael zaps him back home!" Sam yelled at Dean, who still didn't move. Sam couldn't believe it. Of all the times Dean decided to have a mental breakdown over his repressed feelings it had to be now...

"Dean, that's not Cas!" Sam shouted, grabbing his older brother by his tense shoulders, yanking Dean up to his feet.

Dean's eyes were foggy, not concentrated, and they were still drifting over the dead body. He stood there, hunched, and limp, and just looked to thoroughly pathetic, that Sam had no other choice.

He slapped Dean hard across the face.

"Dean! Not! Cas! Come on!" Sam was getting desperate, shaking Dean by his shoulders.

The older Winchester turned his head away slightly by the force of the slap, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. When Dean opened them, the moment was gone. He was Dean again. And the guilt and hurt from his previous posture seemed to be completely gone.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Let's go," Dean mumbled, wrenching away from Sam's grip, heading away from the crime scene. Sam followed quickly after Dean, who didn't even glance back over his shoulder anymore, keeping his gaze straight forward.

"Don't think you're getting away with slapping me, bitch, I'll remember that," Dean suddenly muttered at Sam, and even with the depressing situation, Sam grinned at his brother. It was comforting to know, that Dean was okay for now.

**...**

They got back to the set in time to see Virgil turn the studio into a shooting range, targets being everyone else there who got into Virgil's way. He had shot like four or six people, including the doucey director Bob Singer, by the time Dean and Sam found him.

Everything happened really fast. Virgil was trying to shoot some random people, for no reason other than to just kill them really, when Sam jumped from behind him, shouting at the angel, distracting him.

Virgil spun around, but he had no time to even try and shoot Sam, when Dean came running up to him, tackling the mojoless angel who was doing a horrible Billy the Kid impression, right through some motel room set's fake wall.

Dean landed on the surprised keeper of heaven's weapons, and wasting no time, he started to beat the crap out of Virgil.

They rolled off the broken fake wall to the floor, Dean hitting what ever spot on the other man, or well, angel, he could reach. He was blinded by such hate, anger and pain, that for a moment he forgot everything else. He forgot about the key, forgot about Raphael who was soon zapping Virgil home, he forgot about the dimensions, about everything.

All he could remember was the cold, still, lifeless face of Castiel, laying on that dark alley, throat slit clean. All he could think about, was the fear and pain, that must have filled the all-knowing, beautiful blue eyes, when they stared at this merciless, cruel piece of crap Virgil, who without blinking or hesitating sunk his blade into that perfect, soft skin, listening the gurgle escaping those thin skillful lips, as the life was drained away from the blue terrified eyes...

And Dean was filled with so much rage, he got some twisted pleasure out of the pained wheeze Virgil let out, when Dean's fist made a hard contact with his stomach.

Suddenly Sam burst through the fake-motel room's door and he was all over Virgil too, helping Dean to kick the living crap out of him, not that Dean really needed the help, he was handling the situation just fine on his own.

Sam reached into Virgil's pocket, finding the key, while Dean was still pounding his fist into the now unconscious angel's obviously broken jaw.

"Dean, I got it," Sam grunted, getting up, but Dean just kept going. He grabbed Virgil by his coat, and lifted the limp body off the floor just enough to give him room to smash the angel's head back against the ground. Hard. He repeated it, twice, until he heard the sickening crack of the skull breaking.

Dean finally let go, gasping for air. His chest felt too tight, but he stood up, staring down at the rapidly bleeding unconscious angel by his feet. Dean knew he hadn't killed Virgil, no way, but at least he had caused the dude some pain. At least he had gotten some kind of revenge.

"That was for my boyfriend Cas, you son of a bitch," Dean whispered, voice tight and strained, full of pure hate. He kept staring down at Virgil, so he missed the very worried and sort of freaked out and terrified look on Sam's face, who came to realize, that maybe Dean wasn't that fine after all...

Suddenly the small set was filled with a loud roaring, rushing sound. Sam and Dean glanced around themselves looking for the source of the noise that was quickly getting louder and louder, when Sam noticed the red sigil that had appeared on the fake-motel room window. Shivers ran down the younger Winchester's back, when he realized what it meant.

"Raphael... Run!" Sam croaked with a slightly panicked voice. Dean nodded hurriedly, but just when they both were starting to run off, they felt a powerful tug behind their backs, and they were pulled off their feet and through the window.

**...**

Dean landed face down on concrete, with pieces of glass flying over him, and he only faintly registered Sam smashing down on the ground beside him.

It was dark, so Dean couldn't right away tell where they were, but when he hauled himself to his feet, off the damp, hard ground with pieces of broken glass and wood laying around, and found himself staring right in the eyes of a not so friendly looking black chick, Dean kind of got the idea, that the 'where', didn't really matter right now.

"You two... have the strangest luck."

Her voice was slightly surprised, maybe even amused, but it had oddly familiar ring to it, like every word was and insult directed straight to Dean.

"Raphael?" Dean questioned, even if he already knew the answer. But hey, it did kind of throw him off, since last time they met, Raphael was still a dude.

"Nice meat suit," Dean complimented sarcastically.

"Dude looks like a lady," he continued, murmuring his words to Sam. Raphael did not appreciate the joke. She lifted her hand and clenched in into a fist, which made Dean and Sam both bend over and grunt in pain. It was like there were thousands of burning hot hammers just beating away inside their rib cages. Yeah, Dean never really knew when to keep his mouth shut...

"The key..." Raphael gritted through her teeth. Sam had dropped it, when the pain had hit him, so all Raphael needed to do, was kneel and pick it up from the ground. She got to feel the glorious feeling of victory, staring down at the key triumphantly, about for half a second, before they were all startled by a voice, belonging to somebody who had not been there a second ago.

"And that will open you a locker at the Albany bus station," Balthazar stated, matter of factly, walking over to them, like he was on his every day casual evening stroll through some random motel's parking lot, a small smile playing on his face.

Raphael on the other hand did not smile.

"Really?" she asked, her voice dripping with angry disbelief.

"You see, I needed a modest decoy to make it more convincing," Balthazar smirked, not at all worried that he was currently pissing off a very short tempered archangel.

"Give me the weapons," Raphael growled, squinting her eyes, threateningly.

"Sorry darling, they're gone," Balthazar stated, not sounding the least bit sorry. Sam and Dean were just forgotten, standing in the background, having no other option than to just follow this conversation between the two angels.

"What? !" Raphael sounded like she was pretty ready to start smiting stuff.

"I said, too. Bloody. Late," Balthazar said strictly, emphasizing every word, which was making Raphael even more pissed, if possible.

"You see, they were so well hidden, That I needed time to find them, so I volunteered these two marmosets for a game of fetch with Virgil," Balthazar explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world, gesturing towards Sam and Dean, who both suddenly felt very betrayed.

"You two were such an adequate stick. Thank you. Thank you, boys," Balthazar added, now actually talking directly at Dean and Sam, but as always with the angels, it felt like he was more of mocking them than actually thanking them for anything. And now it was Dean, who was getting pissed. They had gotten jerked around and messed up by all this other dimension crap, and it was all for some stupid decoy Balthazar had set up? Angels were such dicks.

"You have made your last mistake," Raphael more informed Balthazar than threatened him.

"I've gotta few more up my sleeve, honey," Balthazar calmly shot back, sneering slightly at Raphael, not the least bit scared by her threats.

Raphael started to walk towards Balthazar. The other angel tensed, but for the surprise for them all, he didn't show any signs of fleeing the scene. Raphael raised her arm, ready to lay her most deadliest mojo on Balthazar...

When the familiar commanding gruff voice, that immediately sent shivers running up and down Dean's spine, filled the air.

"Step away from him Raphael."

They all turned to look at Castiel, who had appeared few feet behind Raphael, his face as stern and stoic as ever, as he stared at his brother. Um... sister? Expecting her to do as Castiel had commanded. And for a split second, that Dean was able to tear his gaze away from the deep blue eyes he had missed so much it had hurt, he realized that, that was fear he could see on Raphael's face.

"I have the weapons now, their power is with me," Castiel said, unwavering, like a stone wall, and suddenly, out of nowhere, there were lightnings.

With hammering thunder they light up the dark parking lot, and Dean was able to see the wings on Cas' back. Or their shadowy reflection against the wall behind Cas.

It was the second time Dean saw them, but it still was a powerful enough sight to make his heart feel like it didn't belong in his chest, and it jumped up to sit so and so comfortably in his throat.

The image of the wings lasted only a fragment of a second, but still the moment stretched on for what felt like an eternity. It was amazing how the mere shadow of Castiel's wings made the angel look so great and powerful at the same time it kind of made him look so small and fragile, standing there, between the huge wings.

Dean couldn't take his eyes off Cas, so relieved to see the crystal blue eyes full of life again, so he just stared and tried to swallow down his heart, that was currently beating so fast, he was kind of worried that Sam who stood only like three feet away from Dean, could feel it.

"Castiel," Raphael whispered at the sight of her little brother. She looked unsure, frightened. And for a good reason.

"If you don't want to die tonight," Castiel was talking like Raphael now, not warning, or threatening, but stating the obvious, almost promising, as he calmly walked over to his brothers and the Winchester brothers.

"Back off," he continued, his low voice cutting through the silence like a knife. Balthazar was smiling smugly at Raphael, who seemed calm, but they could all feel the rage floating around her like a poisonous aura. And then she was gone.

"Well Cas," Balthazar started, walking casually over to Castiel, who was too walking closer to Balthazar too.

"Now that you have your sword, try not to die by it," Balthazar continued, his voice as close to friendly, or affectionate as Dean had ever heard Balthazar get. Cas' face stayed in its usual blank, slightly grim expression, even if Balthazar offered him a what looked like a caring smile. And with a soft flutter of wings, he was gone too.

And so Dean was left standing alone at the dark, empty and now quiet parking lot with Sam and Cas. A very much alive Cas. A very much alive Cas who was suddenly walking straight towards them, showing no signs that he was going to stop. So the angel according to his customs, walked right in Dean's (yeah, well, Sam's too) personal space, making Dean's already stressed poor heart almost stop, as the angel dropped his hand on Dean's shoulder.

And Dean could smell him. That distant scent of ocean, forest and candle wax, mixed with the left overs of Jimmy's cologne. Dean was sure he'd faint, so he missed the breathless mumble Sam was throwing at Castiel.

"Cas, what the hell?"

And he missed the fact, that they were no longer standing at the wet, cold and dark motel parking lot, but back at Bobby's, _real_ Bobby's study. Back where they had left.

All he could do, was stare at the angel.

"Wait, wait, you were in on this? Using us as a diversion? !" Sam's voice sounded distant to Dean, who found it hard to focus on anything that wasn't Castiel, so to him it sounded like Sam was shouting his heated words from across a football field, but the accusing tone of it stabbed through Dean's hazy brain, and apparently it stabbed through Cas' as well, since the angel sighed slightly, turning away from the brothers.

"It was Balthazar's plan," Cas started the explanation, but he didn't get very far with it. Because Dean rushed forward, not really knowing what he was doing. He closed the distance between him and Cas, who had turned back to face them, and just without thinking, he wrapped his arms around Cas' shoulders, holding the smaller framed angel tight against his chest.

Cas went very still, and tensed under the sudden and unexpected display of affection, but Dean didn't care. Actually he liked it, because it was expected. Because that was how Cas was supposed to act when Dean hugged him suddenly, seemingly without a reason, because that was Cas.

Dean had been through so much these past few days, that he just didn't give a crap anymore. He knew he should be angry about the plan Castiel and Balthazar had about using him and Sam as decoys in their game with Raphael, and making them jump through their little angel loops, but honestly... he didn't care enough anymore to get angry. He was just relieved. Relieved, that he and Sam had been able to come back home, relieved that Virgil hadn't managed to turn them into sieves, or that Raphael hadn't blown them apart.

Relieved, that this was the real Cas, and he was still alive, and there.

**…**

**A/N: **And now, you who do not want spoilers, do look away.

Now.

I'm serious, don't read this.

Spoilers ahead!

Ye be warned!

I just want to say, that don't feel too sad about Misha yet, there's a plot twist coming there. And another thing, right now, it seems, that The French Correction story will be about 10 or 11 chapters long so... not that many to go. But there will be an epilogue, if I'm not too lazy, so still something to look forward to, eh? (8


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Oh my God! I'm so sorry this took so long! But I won't give you excuses, I know you don't want to read those, I know you want to just read the chapter, but I'll just say this, that THANK YOU ALL, who still read this after the long hiatus, and thank you all for your supportive comments, you won't know how much I appreciate them!

But... here you go, The French Correction, Chapter 9.

**Chapter 9.**

The awkward moment just stretched on.

All that it was missing was a ball of tumble weed bouncing through Bobby's study along with a whistling prairie wind. And Dean was just waiting for the awkward cough from Sam, but it didn't come to save him from the pressing, uncomfortable silence. They all just stood there, still, not talking. Sam stunned, by the broken window, and Dean, with his arms around Cas' shoulders, and Cas rigid and obviously confused. Dean felt the blush creep up his neck and to his face, and now, when he had let the uncomfortable moment go on for this long, he dreaded letting go, fearing the embarrassment that would more than likely ensue, when he'd let go.

"Uhm... It's... good to see you too, Dean," Cas said, his voice unsure and yep, confused and Dean got the hint that he should let go now. So he did. But he also noted, that during that excruciatingly long moment they had hugged, Cas hadn't even made a move to hug him back. Dean knew, that it had been unexpected, and that Cas was most likely so thrown off by the new and odd situation (they had never hugged before, Dean realized just now) that he hadn't known what to do, but still... It made something unpleasant twinge somewhere in the back of Dean's mind.

Dean didn't look Cas in the eyes. Actually, he looked anywhere else, but at Cas, turning his head away from the angel, scratching the back of his head, and clearing his throat, hoping for God, to will away the crimson blush that was lighting up his face.

"Yeah, sorry for... that. I... I uh... I've had a rough couple of days, you know," Dean mumbled, also avoiding Sam's astonished and stunned face.

"Uhm... Sure," Cas said, tilting his head in that familiar way Dean hadn't even realized he had missed so much. So of course to see more, he turned back to face Cas.

And at that second Dean was sure he'd drown.

He was staring right into the deep clear blue abyss of Castiel's eyes, and just then did he really notice, how different they actually were from Misha's.

Sure, Misha's eyes had been pretty, actually, more than pretty. They had been insanely blue and beautiful, very clear, until they went almost black with lust, darkening with a burning look of hunger... But Cas'... They were deeper. The one minute, they looked sky blue and clear, piercing and fierce but still kind, until the light hit them differently, and they were deep and dark, like a stormy center of an raging ocean, and you could caught a glimpse of that ancient celestial all-knowing being behind them. Those eyes made Dean feel just how small, insignificant and unimportant tiny man he really was. And at that moment, any hope in Dean to have with Cas what ever his parallel dimension-self, Jensen, was having with Misha, shriveled up in his chest, and died.

How could he even ever had such a deluded hope to be something more than a friend, an allay, to Cas? The whole thought seemed ridiculous now, and Dean understood why he had unconsciously buried those thoughts somewhere in the back of his mind all those years ago.

"Well... I'm glad to see you're both fine, and I feel that this matter is settled for now, so I must return now to my post at heaven," Castiel stated, and with his customary quiet flutter of feathered wings, he was gone, and Dean was left staring at the empty spot where he had stood just seconds ago.

"No, wait!" Sam, suddenly got his ability to speak back, and wailed after Cas, even if it was useless. The angel was gone, leaving Sam very pissed off, and having nobody else to take his frustration on out, than Dean.

"Son of a bitch..." Sam muttered, trying to get Dean to mock Cas' inability to actually explain things to them and just disappearing without a good bye, with him. Well, actually Cas had done a good job this time, telling them that he was leaving, approximately two seconds before he vanished but still, that didn't make Sam any less pissed off. But what was surprising, was that Dean didn't join Sam in cursing Cas' allergy to talk to them, he just turned his back to his little brother, and started to walk out of the study to the hallway, without saying anything to Sam.

Which, by the way, did nothing to improve Sam's already pissy mood.

"Where are you going? And what the hell is wrong with you?" Sam shouted after Dean, following him half way up the stairs that Dean had started to climb up. Dean stopped, but just for a second. He didn't turn back, didn't want to talk to Sam.

"Dean! Seriously! What the hell? !" Sam kept yelling, grabbing Dean by his elbow, forcing his older brother to turn and face him. Dean had that grumpy, angry look of his on his face, that usually told Sam to leave what ever was bothering the older Winchester the hell alone, but not this time. Not after all this mess.

"What?" Dean growled, yanking his arm free. Sam sighed at Dean, furrowing his brows.

"What? Really? You're not at all pissed at Cas for using as, without telling us? Instead you _hug_ him? Dean, you're usually the first person to complain about the angel dickery after he pulls a stunt like this and now... you _hug _him? Plus, what the hell was that back there? With Virgil? Dude, you were down right scary. And what you said, to Virgil, after you bashed his head open..." Sam didn't get to finish, when Dean cut him off quickly, when Sam got to that point.

"Look. Sam. I know, these past few days have been... a little rough, on me, like I said. But really, Cas was just being Cas, a dick, like normally, so nothing new there, so no point in starting to shout at the walls here. And as for what happened there... I got my issues sorted out. No reason to wallow in this mess, it's behind us, so let's just forget about it okay? There's no reason to talk about it, or to put it under any kind of microscope. It's over, it's done, we can move on, okay?" Dean's voice was dead serious, leaving no room for argument, and as much as Sam doubted that Dean 'had his issues sorted out', there was really no point in arguing about this now. And if just this once, they were able to catch a break, maybe this whole mess was behind them now, and Dean really was okay, so Sam let it drop. He held his hands out in defeat, and backed off, not saying anything more, he walked off to the kitchen. Dean watched Sam go for a moment, before he too turned to go up stairs to the room he usually used when they were staying at Bobby's.

He just wanted to go get a shower, and a drink or twelve, and sleep, until this whole crappy mess was washed away from his, or anyone else's memory. He just wanted to forget. To bury all the feelings again.

But as always with Dean, no such luck.

**...**

Dean just wanted to get back to their normal, or as normal as their lives would ever get, day to day basis, like in a way of proving to himself that nothing had changed, like the whole dimension swapping fiasco had never happened, but Sam insisted that they'd take a few days off from hunting and all that stuff and just stayed with Bobby to relax and take it easy after all the stress the trip to the parallel universe had caused them. Or caused Dean, like he meant it, but just wasn't willing to say.

So after two huge arguments and a final statement from Bobby saying that he'd lock Dean up in the panic room again if that was what it took for him to just stay put for few days, and with the strong over use of the word idgit directed at the older Winchester, Dean finally agreed to the break after some sulking.

But the break didn't go that great for him.

Few days turned into three weeks. Three weeks that passed by since the boys' return. Three weeks since Dean had last seen Castiel. Three weeks, that Dean was, according to his own opinion, held as a prisoner at Bobby's place. Well sure he was allowed to leave the house to go a bar to have a drink or stuff like that, but never was he allowed to go on a hunt. It was like Bobby and Sam had decided that after the little mishap at the parallel universe, coming in contact with any kind of supernatural being might just make Dean have some sort of mental breakdown.

Dean and Sam were working or researching on a few cases to help Bobby, but when it came down to leave the 'peaceful' realm of Bobby's house and actually hunting down the evil son of a bitch, Dean suddenly found himself in lock down at the old shack that Bobby called his home.

It was beginning to frustrate Dean to a greater end, but that wasn't the worst part, oh no. The worst part was, that it had _actually_ been three weeks since Dean had last seen Cas. And even if he wished, honest to God that he didn't, Cas was all he could think about. And those weren't really happy thoughts.

Dean woke up all sweaty and shivering from nightmares in the middle of a night, seeing the cold, bloody and dead face of Cas from that alley haunting him, and when he was awake, he remembered all those touches, kisses, looks that he had exchanged with the fake-Cas, and it was torturing him. Knowing that those moments that he was trying so hard to bury again in the back of his mind, would never be real. He wanted them to be real. So bad, that it was making his whole body ache. But all the same he just wanted to forget that anything like that had ever happened. Dean cursed himself for thinking something so stupid as that things would just magically go back to normal after he'd get back to his own reality.

So now during these three weeks Dean was frustrated and snappy, lashing out at Sam and Bobby for the smallest of things, because willingly or not, he was anxious to see Castiel again, who had not made any kind of contact to them since the boys' had returned. Unless you didn't count those few rare occasions when either Bobby or Sam decided that they needed help from Cas on some job they were working on. And when ever one of those occasions took place, Dean saw safe to take a refugee at the local bar, and seek help to his problems from a bottom of a whiskey bottle, avoiding Cas, wanting nothing more than to not see him.

It was so stupid. He wanted to see Cas, he didn't want to see Cas... It wasn't like he didn't know how things would go on from here, it was pretty damn simple, actually. He'd forget he ever had any kinds of 'feelings' or what-evers towards Cas, because that was just plain ridiculous, to even think that there was another option than to just bury all this crap down there where it had one risen from in the first place. So all Dean had to do now, was forget.

And damn him, if he wasn't trying.

It was the end of the third week at Bobby's, and as Dean had made it customary, he had escaped from the endless piles of boring-ass books to the local bar, where he now days spent actually more time than at Bobby's. So there he was, sitting at the bar, a half empty glass of whiskey in his hand. He was checking out a petite brunette at the jukebox. She had a lean, athletic body and short, very dark hair. She was standing her back to Dean, so that Dean could only for now stare at her shoulders, that were covered by the tanned coat she was wearing. Even if Dean couldn't see her face he had to admit, that she had that certain something that was appealing to him. Even if it did feel like something there was missing...

It was kinda strange actually... Dean had used to go after the thin, curvy blondes, who wore clothes that left little to the imagination but after he got back... Dean had noticed that the type he now felt the most attracted to was short, athletic brunettes with blue eyes. But actually it had been a quite relief to him, when he realized that he still was attracted to chicks. Because even if Dean had first been quite embarrassed to admit it, he had checked out few dudes after his return, just to see if that was the game that floated his boat now days, so to speak.

But he soon found out, that not one dude, despite of how they looked like, made his pants feel funny. So to speak.

When Dean had realized that, it had been one of his only real happy moments after he'd gotten back home, because when he noticed that he wasn't actually gay after all, he was almost able to make himself also believe that the feelings or what-ever-you-call-thems he had for Cas were just some kind of temporary insanity thing.

If only it had been so.

The chick that Dean had been checking out turned around, so that Dean could now see her face. She had green eyes. What ever attraction Dean had felt for her mere seconds ago, was quickly drained away, and she suddenly faded back to being just another meaningless face in the crowd.

Dean sighed and turned away from the girl, back to his drink. Just to notice Sam, who had suddenly appeared to sit next to Dean.

"Hi," Sam greeted his older brother, waving his hand at the bartender in order to get a beer. Dean just took another sip of his whiskey, barely acknowledging Sam.

"Dean look, you gotta stop this," Sam sighed desperately after getting his beer.

"Stop what?" Dean grunted, knowing very well what Sam was talking about.

"This!" Sam cried out, flailing his hands around.

"This, hiding in bars, picking up random girls and drinking through out the whole day... You said yourself that you just wanted to get back to normal," Sam kept going, and Dean gave him a dry laugh.

"Bars, booze, women... what exactly isn't normal there for me, Sammy?" Sam frowned at him with frustration.

"You know what I mean. You escape the house as soon as somebody mentions Cas, and I've seen the chicks you bring back at there."

Dean was quiet for awhile, quickly glancing at the brunette by the jukebox, just to wish that he hadn't, because Sam noticed her too, giving Dean that 'I understand, and want to help'-look of his.

"What about the chicks?" Dean asked with a challenge in his voice. Sam just smiled sadly, and shook his head slightly.

"Seriously, Dean? Dark hair, blue eyes, practically no curves at all... And don't think I didn't hear you calling the last one Cas."

"So what? It was a nickname, her real name was Cassie."

"No, Dean, Cassie was her nickname, her real name was Cassandra. She told you that. Several times."

Dean was quiet for a long time after that, not looking at Sam. He just stared at his drink, thanking God, or whomever that he didn't blush that easily.

"Does it really make you feel better? Getting drunk and... and pretending, with those girls?" Sam finally broke the silence, talking softly and trying to choose his words carefully. But not carefully enough. Dean's head snapped at Sam's direction, and his dirty green eyes were squinted with annoyance and slight anger.

"Do not go all Dr. Phil on me, man."

Sam frowned again, looking away from Dean. It killed him, that Dean was torturing himself like this refusing all help, the bone head that he was. Dean already had too much weight on his shoulders. He shouldn't have this too.

"I was just thinking that..." Sam began but was cut off quickly by Dean.

"Dear God, if you're going to suggest that we should talk about this, I swear I'm gonna start throwing punches," Dean said so clearly that Sam could really hear that it wasn't a threat, it was a promise. Sam quickly shook his head.

"I wasn't gonna say that. Well, not exactly," Sam said almost apologetically, when he saw Dean squeezing his hand into a fist.

"I was gonna say that I think you should really talk to Cas," Sam hurried to continue.

Dean's fist opened and his hand was left to hang limply by his side. His face went blank for a second, before the reaction for what Sam had said finally kicked in.

"Are you insane? !" Dean shouted.

"I mean, why the hell should I do that?" he tried again clearing his throat and quickly taking a sip of his whiskey.

"Because this is eating you up! I know it is, I know you. You're trying to bury down all this crap and doing a piss poor job at it, because really you don't wanna forget. You just want Cas. And I know it's awkward to talk to me about this, so yeah, the solution is, go talk to him. Stop beating yourself up. Just... talk to him. I'm worried about you Dean, we all are. Even he is," Sam shot back, he to now getting annoyed. He was tired of circling the issue.

"How would you know that?" Dean tried to mask the curiosity and surprise in his voice under the annoyed huff, doing a poor job at it too.

"Because he said so," Sam stated clearly, staring right into Dean's eyes, as if proving that he wasn't lying. Dean's heart felt suddenly like it was too light to beat. And then he just felt stupid. There was no reason getting excited over the fact that Cas was 'worrying' about him. Why wouldn't he? They were still friends, and Cas had no idea what had happened while Dean was away.

"The second time he showed up to help us on that Akateko gone rogue, he noticed how you were missing again, and even Cas, as dense as he might be about the human-stuff noticed you being a little... off, when we got back from... you know. So he asked if you were okay, and he was 'concerned that the dimension traveling had disrupted your mind, since your behavior had changed so dramatically', as he put it," Sam explained, and Dean almost smiled. That did sound a lot like Cas. Offhandedly just mentioning something huge and concerning, like he was talking about what he had for lunch last Tuesday. But then Dean realized something that made his insides freeze.

"So what did you tell him?" he asked slowly from Sam, squeezing the whiskey glass in his hand with white knuckles. He was lucky that the thin glass didn't break in his death grip.

"I told him what you would have. That you're fine, even if everybody knows that you're not," Sam said, shrugging. Dean felt greatly relieved. For a moment he had all these horror pictures in his head about Sam spilling his guts to Castiel about Dean an the parallel dimension's fake-Cas. Dean sighed and shook his head.

"Well... thanks. But just... no. I'm not gonna talk to him. There's nothing to talk about. Really Sam, there isn't," he snapped at Sam's disbelieving face.

"I just gotta get my head out of my ass and pull things together. I'll be fine, I swear," Dean continued, finishing his whiskey, but before he got the chance to wave at the bartender to get another one, Sam emptied his beer bottle, standing up from his bar stool.

"Fine. Let's go."

"I don't wanna go yet, there's nothing to do at Bobby's and I'm bored as hell," Dean whined, still sitting on his seat.

"We're not going back to Bobby's, we're going to Pennsylvania," Sam said waiting patiently for Dean to get up. But Dean just looked confused as hell.

"Okay... Mind telling me why?" he asked, still not moving. Sam let out a sigh of desperation, rolling his eyes.

"We're going on a hunt, asshat. Bobby found signs of a possible ajatar attacks. We're going to check it out," Sam said, and Dean finally got up, but he was still confused.

"And you're taking me with?"

Sam let out a small laugh.

"Well, it's not like I got a choice or anything, Bobby told me that if I won't be able to talk any sense into your thick skull then I don't have to bother to bring you back to the house. Apparently he's tired of your drunk-ass moping around his house."

They had made their way out of the bar and to the parking lot and they were now standing by the Impala. The real Impala.

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, getting into the car, on the passengers seat.

"So Pennsylvania it is then," Dean said dryly as Sam started the car.

"Look, Dean, I just..." Sam still tried as he began to pull away from the parking lot, but again, as always Dean cut him off.

"Pennsylvania, Sam. Hunting. I'll be fine," Dean grunted, not looking at his little brother, but staring out of the window, because he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Sam, or himself.

**…**

**A/N: **

Spoiler alert about the show!

…

…

…

…

I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY NOW KILLED BOBBY TOO? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THEM!

This just... kills the little writer in me.

Comments honor our favorite old, drunken cap wearing dear Bobby Singer!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **After a long silence, there is life.

Okay, first of all, I am SO SO SO sorry, that it took this long, but I'm gonna pull my act together, and finish this damn fic, even if it'll kill me!

And second of all, I want to thank you all again for your comments and support, it really mean so much to me! So thank you all, my sweet readers!

And third. Cas stuck in a mental institution? ! The hell? ! Our reunion with him was supposed to be a joyous occasion, not this bullcrap! Poor Cas. Well, at least he is alive.

Fourth... Enjoy! (8

**...**

**Chapter 10.**

It only took Sam three days to realize that Dean wasn't going to be fine. Not on his own.

But on the contrast, it took Sam about five days to grow tired of Dean's crap.

After they got to Pennsylvania and found out that it really was an ajatar, luring drunken men that were blinded by her beauty, back to her hide-out to her sisters, and ripping out the intestines of those poor men, Dean slaughtered, without mercy, without blinking, without so much as noticing what he was doing, the whole sisterhood. All the while Sam was drooling after the cruel but really, really hot creatures. They didn't seem to have any effect on the older Winchester, who slowly wiped the blood off his face, and pulled out his pocket flask, taking a long swig.

But the killing spree did nothing to cheer up Dean.

The whole time at Bobby's Dean had been anxious to get back to hunting, and now he did it with a effectiveness that actually scared Sam, and it was like nothing had happened.

Dean was still silent, gloomy and ready to explode at the slightest agitation.

He kept spacing out, which almost got them into four car accidents, until Sam insisted that he'd drive for now. Dean yelled at Sam for a good half an hour, but after that he gave in, and just sat silently on the passengers seat. He only spoke to shout or curse at Sam, otherwise he only opened his mouth to drink, and then it was only alcohol. He wouldn't leave the motel room unless there was a promise that he'd get to kill something, and he had totally given up sleep, because he seemed to be afraid of going to sleep. And Sam guessed, for a reason. When the humongous sleep deprivation and cheap whiskey would finally get to Dean, he'd fall asleep for few minutes before he'd jerk violently, waking himself up with screams and almost tears. Sam was so worried about Dean who kept telling him that he was fine, that it almost hurt Sam physically. But also, he was so fed up and tired with Dean's self loathing and denial that he broke his promise to his older brother, to leave this matter alone. So Sam called Cas.

**…**

Sam wasn't actually doing research, as much as he was nervously crouched behind his computer on an uncomfortable squeaky motel room chair, glancing at the clock every two seconds.

When he and Cas had talked yesterday, they had agreed for the angel to drop in on them around five-ish, and it was already five fifteen, but then again, the guy was running a civil war up there, so that maybe he could be forgiven for being ten minutes late.

Sam glanced at Dean instead of the clock for a change.

Dean was laying down on one of the also squeaky and uncomfortable motel room beds, definitely NOT watching some talk show on the tiny TV, that was definitely NOT Oprah, like he had said. Sam sighed. He had not explained to Cas what was really going on, because he felt like that was something that Dean should say, and suffer the awkwardness for, so Sam had only told Cas that he was worried about Dean, thinking that maybe he was suffering from some side effects from the dimension swapping, and Cas should come to take a look at him. Cas had agreed to it quickly, also thinking that it was weird how Dean had been avoiding him of lately. Sam was just surprised that Cas had noticed it.

So here they were 5.23 pm, still waiting for Cas.

"Hello."

Dean jumped almost three feet high from the squeaky bed, landing flat on the floor while trying to grope his gun from under his pillow, and Sam nearly knocked over a half empty bottle of whiskey on the table when the gruff emotionless voice cut through the silent motel room.

Well, the party had arrived at last.

Too bad, that Dean didn't seem like he wanted to join this party.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean grunted, stuffing the gun away and standing up. He looked like he was suddenly too aware of himself, not really knowing which way to stand or what to do with his hands. Like a second grader with a crush. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Sam called me. Asked me to come," Cas explained bluntly, not taking his eyes off Dean. Which wasn't really helping Dean's case. The older Winchester turned to look at Sam with his best 'I will murder you, and I will enjoy it'-face.

"Did he now?" Dean's voice was dripping ice and Sam suddenly felt a huge urge to be anywhere else but there. He stood abruptly, almost knocking over his chair, grabbing Dean's jacket from the back of the chair, rummaging through the pockets for the car keys.

"Sam!" Dean's voice was demanding, and Cas was still just standing there, by the door, staring at Dean, not even blinking. Sam fished out the car keys, heading for the door dodging Dean's murderous gaze.

"Yeah, I called him, I just though that maybe you should... You know... talk with him about... the problems you've had lately... About the dimension swapping..." Sam mumbled just loud enough for it to be audible, before he was out the door, ditching Dean and the whole awkward situation. He had done his part, and now Sam could only hope that Dean would just give in, quit being such a bonehead and do the right thing for himself for once.

**...**

The slam from the door echoed through the awkward silence, and Dean cleared his throat looking everywhere but at the angel who was still staring at him, not saying anything.

"Look, Cas, I don't know what Sam told you, but I'm pretty sure that you can go now, everything's okay," Dean mumbled, scratching the back of his head, taking quick peeks at Cas, who now tilted his head in a way, that made something stir inside Dean.

God, how he had missed that head tilt. It was almost ridiculous.

It was storming inside Dean's own head and Cas just made it worse. He just wanted the guy out of the room. Soon. Or at least that was what Dean wanted to want.

He wasn't making any sense even to himself anymore.

"Sam simply told me that you are experiencing some side affects from the dimension traveling. And I believe that his concerns are justifiable, given how strange you have acted since your return," Cas stated, trying to pierce Dean with his gaze, like a helpless bug with a needle.

"How the hell would you even... know... how I've been... act..."

The rest of Dean's sentence was drowned out, forgotten, unable to pass trough the hunter's lips, because Cas had taken a few brisk steps from the door, and was now standing alarmingly close to Dean, staring right into the hunter's dirty green eyes, and Dean was no longer able to escape Cas' gaze and the angle's storming eyes with every possible shade of blue in them.

Dean's focus was completely thrown out of the window.

All his effort, everything he had done to try to put all these 'feelings' behind him, was made empty by that simple surge of warmth and energy floating from Cas' body like a infectious virus, right into Dean's veins. And the smell of that man... Angel, whatever... it brought everything rushing back. The feeling of that body writhing under Dean, the maddening taste of those lips on his... The aching, burning need to feel all that again... To feel the _real_ Cas. For the very first time...

"Dean!"

Dean jerked a little but not away from Cas. The angel had been talking to him, but not a single word had registered into his brain. His brain was too full of other thoughts...

"Umm, yeah, what?" Dean muttered, trying to avoid Cas' eyes. He would not be sucked into this again. There was no chance. He'd just had to let go. Let go of his twisted thoughts. Let go of Cas.

But in order to do that, he'd first have to get Cas the hell out of there.

"Listen to me, this is important! While jumping from dimension to dimension, you might have left a part of yourself behind, and I need you to answer to me, so that I can define what part, so that I can fix it," Cas' voice was firm and penetrating, digging it's way through Dean's hazy mind.

Dean knew he was all there, and he knew why Sam and orchestrated this whole scheme, but he just couldn't say anything. Everything would be over much faster if he'd just go along with this. Then Cas would just go, and Dean could go back to normal. Normal... Dean tried to resist the urge to puke at the word.

So Dean just nodded.

"Good. Now, have you experienced loosing time?"

Dean shook his head. Cas frowned.

"Do you feel like you don't always know the person who you're having a conversation with, even if they seem to know who you are?"

Dean shook his head again. It was becoming difficult again to concentrate. Cas was so close...

Cas's frown deepened.

"Have you noticed people you know acting anyhow weird?"

But this time before Dean could shake his head again, Cas had raised his hand and grabbed Dean by his chin, examining his face, really, _really,_ closely. Dean couldn't breath. He couldn't think. He could only hear his own heart beat, and pray that Cas didn't hear it too.

"_Dean!_"

Apparently he had been quiet and just staring for a little while too long. Cas' face was just one big frown, as he stared into Dean's eyes.

"I am afraid that this is no use. It seems that I must look into your mind," Cas said grimly, and that snapped Dean finally out of it. This was getting too dangerous. He'd have to get Cas out. Now!

"No, no, no, no! You stay out of my head, you hear me? It's been hard enough few weeks without you poking around inside my grapefruit," Dean snarled, yanking his head away from Cas' grip, and taking a few steps away from the angel. Breaking his eye contact from those big blue eyes that had the god damn map of the universe hidden inside of them, that had become all Dean could focus on for the past few minutes while Cas had tried to question him.

"But Dean, if you are experiencing side effects from..." Cas started, taking a few frustrated steps towards Dean, but was cut off by the hunter.

"I am not! I'm fine. There is nothing wrong with me, so you and Sam can just stop bugging me already!" Dean stepped back too, trying to keep Cas out of his personal space. He wasn't sure what would happen to the poor angel if he got that close again.

"Then why have you been acting so strange lately?" Cas asked, not convinced, tilting his head again, making Dean's insides wrench.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean huffed, pushing past Cas, and sitting down at the table, taking a long swing from the half empty whiskey bottle that Sam had almost knocked over earlier. Cas squinted his eyes at Dean, taking his time before answering to the hunter.

"You were... already acting strange right after your return..." he was obviously referring to the hug but wasn't just able to put in in words.

"And you have been avoiding me," Cas said with a voice that sounded some how even more... flat, than usually. Dean wasn't sure if he was imagining it or what, but Cas did sound a little hurt. Or maybe Dean was just hoping for it, he didn't know anymore.

"I haven't been... avoiding you and the dimension swapping just was a strange trip on itself, that's all. Let it go, everything's fine," Dean said, staring at the wall. He was kind of hoping that if he didn't pay anymore attention to Cas, the angel would just leave. But he couldn't silence the small voice inside his head that he didn't want Cas to leave. Not yet.

He hadn't seen the guy in weeks. He hated admitting it, but Dean had missed him. Maybe even more than he even had realized.

Dean still wasn't looking at the angel but he saw from the corner of his eye that Cas bent over to pick something up off the floor. Dean didn't get a good look at what it was, not that he really cared, all he cared was to get Cas the hell out of there, and fast. He cursed Sam for being the nosy little brother that he was, always 'helping' Dean, but only when he needed the help the least. At least on his own opinion.

Cas was standing up now, holding a some sort of piece of paper in his hand, examining it quite closely. His always so stoic face was furrowed with something that might have been confusion.

"It's strange," Cas said breaking the silence that was just few second away of becoming officially uncomfortable. Dean just rolled his eyes, not really interested, but going with it anyway.

"What's strange, Cas?" he asked, voice bored, so that he was making even the dense angel realize, that he was asking out of the need to break the silence, not because he really cared, what the angel thought was strange.

"This picture. I have no recollection of this happening," Cas answered, still not taking his eyes of the paper, that presumably was a photo, lifting it slightly, to indicate that he was talking about it. Now it was Dean's turn to furrow his brow and be confused. What picture was that? He didn't have any pictures. And he was sure, that even if he did, he most definitely didn't have any of Cas.

And then the realization hit Dean like thousand volts.

The picture he had ripped off of Misha's fridge, back in the wrong universe.

The one with Jensen and Misha holding hands happily.

Jensen and Misha... Looking like him and Cas.

And Dean was up, and by Cas' side in 1.43 seconds, ripping the photo he had completely forgotten about out of Cas' hands, stuffing it back into his pocket. It must have dropped out, when Sam had been going through his jacket pockets earlier for the car keys. Dean was blushing, brightly, he was actually very similar to the color of a fire truck, trying to clear his throat to say something. Cas didn't help him, standing there, too close, staring at him, waiting for an explanation.

"Well, you see... it's because... that's not really... you," Dean stammered, looking away from those too blue eyes, that were piercing through the very being of Dean.

"Then how is that possible? I do not believe that you knew Jimmy Novak before I took him as my vessel," Cas said, still confused. Dean coughed, uncomfortable, and still blushing. The damn angel was really gonna make Dean explain it to him?

"Well, that's not really me either. That's... Jensen and Misha. You know, us, from the dimension where you and old Balty threw us in," Dean mumbled the words out quickly. For a second the cold lifeless face of Misha, laying on that dark alley in his own blood flashed before Dean's eyes, and for that one simple second, it felt like Dean's heart stopped beating. But the moment passed, and Cas was still there. Looking at Dean, as confused as ever. A warm feeling spread through out Dean's whole body, making him hate himself just a little bit more.

"Oh. So they were having physical relations," Cas stated, like he was talking about the weather. Like there was nothing weird or messed up about it at all. Dean squeezed his eyes tight shut, and tried to resist the urge to pummel something to death. How could Cas just dismiss it like that?

"Oh? _Oh! ? _That's all you have to say to that?" Dean wasn't really sure why, but he was getting pissed off by the lack of reaction from Cas. Maybe he just thought that it was unfair, how the whole MishaJensen-thing had messed him up, and all the reaction it got from Cas was a simple "Oh".

Cas frowned and tilted his head.

"Yes. What else would I need to say about it?" Cas' gaze had again reached Dean's eyes, and the blue orbs were drilling holes into Dean's soul.

"Unless... Is this why you have been acting so strangely, after your return? Does this bother you?" Cas asked, stepping a little closer to Dean again. And the hunter was unable to move away.

"No..." Dean choked. He was drowning.

"No... Dean... Did you have physical relations with this man, Misha?"

The question was so blunt, so not-sugarcoated that it was practically a slap across Dean's face and literally had him stumbling back a few steps. And still, Cas seemed so unfazed about this whole situation. The anger was again stirring inside of Dean.

"Dude, really... you... I don't... just... no, wait! Did you just read my mind? I told you to stay the hell out of my head Cas!" Dean yelled now, actually angry. How else would Cas have this so figured out? Damn that angel, what did he thought gave him the right to invade Dean's mind? His thoughts were his own!

"Dean, I didn't have to. It's all over your face. I've been around you for some time now, and I know my Father's creations so I can read people in other ways than just their minds. And I can see that, yes, you had a sexual relationship with this man, Misha, and I can also see, that it is bothering you somehow," Cas explained calmly like it was no big deal.

Dean felt unreal. This was a situation he never ever thought he'd find himself in. And yet, here he was. After all the weird crap in his life...

Dean didn't think he was able to remember how to breath. He ran his eyes along the ugly grayish-green wallpaper, slightly fidgeting. The hell he'd do now? Was this his chance? To actually tell Cas what was going on in his mind? What had been going on there, apparently from the first moment Dean had learned to trust Cas? But what would come from it? Most likely rejection and awkwardness. Dean would lose an allay, and more importantly a friend. He didn't have many of those. So it wouldn't be worth it.

"Yeah well, so... now you know, okay? The big secret. I had sex with a dude. Congrats. All is fine, the door is right there, you can go now," Dean said bitterly, smiling at Cas. But the smile was cold and it twisted Dean's face into a look that seemed a little terrifying.

But Cas wasn't leaving. He just stood there, head tilted and still confused, his eyes never leaving Dean.

"I don't understand," Cas said carefully with his gruff voice.

"What?" Dean spat out.

"Why this is upsetting you so much? Is it because you are feeling that your status as a man has become compromised?"

"What? No, I mean..." Dean started, taken aback, but Cas just cut his stuttering off.

"Or is it because you are now questioning your own sexual orientation?"

"No, Cas, I..." Dean tried, but Cas cut him off again.

"Then what is it?" he seemed to be very intrigued about this, and that was staring to piss Dean off again. How Cas couldn't get it? He had been able to read everything else from Dean's face but not this? How could the little, tiny, fact that Dean was... for some strange reason... agh, he even hated to think about the word, it sounded so corny... in love, or whatever, with Cas?

And why wasn't this a big deal to Cas? Was it some angel deal, that it's basically a normal everyday routine to find out that one of your human friends has been screwing your parallel-dimension-self?

"You don't... You don't find anything disturbing about this? Nothing at all, Cas?" Dean sighed, annoyed. Cas just stared at him for awhile, before answering.

"You didn't just have a physical relationship with him. You had _feelings_ for him," Cas said slowly. His eyes turned dark and it was like the universe itself, hidden in those blue orbs had dimmed. There was no emotion in Cas' voice what so ever. The low gravel voice was completely flat, and that sounded scary to Dean. It had taken some time, but Cas had developed some identifiable

emotions over the years, and now it was like all those had drained away. Was Dean just imagining, or was Cas really... upset?

Dean didn't really know what to do or say. So he just said;

"Uhmm..."

Cas lowered his eyes finally, and stared at his shoes. His face was like a stone wall. It was almost like... something inside that mighty celestial being had broken. What the hell? Why? Dean didn't get it. All he got, was that he just couldn't see Cas like that. How messed up was that?

"Well... you know, I didn't exactly have feelings... for... for him..." Dean's voice was small and feeble, and he too lowered his eyes to stare at his boots. He cursed the situation in his mind. They were like too unsure first graders circling around the subject of who liked who. But because Dean suddenly found a great interest in his shoes, he missed the somewhat relieved look that flashed across Cas' face, as the angel now lift his gaze to again stare at Dean.

"You don't? Then what is the problem here Dean?"

Cas' voice was nonchalant and simply just curious. There was no sign of greater understanding even if Dean had clearly hinted him about Dean's 'real feelings'. Why had the angel be so dense? !

"Dean?" Cas urged, and Dean was getting pissed again. He hated this situation. He just wanted it to be over. He didn't want to deal with this anymore.

So the small almost audible snap echoed in the silent motel room, as Dean broke, for the final time. All the memories of Misha, all the repressed feelings, everything, they came flooding back into Dean's mind, and he didn't even try to block them anymore.

Consumed with his furious desperation and anger, Dean stepped forward, grabbing Cas by the lapels of his trench coat, yanking the angel closer to Dean's face, so that they were only mere inches apart, and then Dean did what he did best.

He yelled at Cas.

"You wanna really know, what's the freaking problem, you idiot?" Dean shouted, shaking Cas, who only looked a little bit more confused than normally. But then again, Dean could have might as well shook a brick wall. It would've had the same effect.

"I didn't have feelings for some random Misha-dude, I have feelings for you, you sorry son of a bitch! I just didn't know it! And then that Misha-guy just scrambled my brain back there, where you just so carelessly happened to throw us, and I've been having a freaking delightful time, trying to get my head together! But you know what, Cas? ! I Can't! I just freaking can't! And you know why? ! Because I had to watch you die! I had to see, how you laid in a puddle of your own blood, and for a moment, I had to feel what it would feel like if I had to go on without you, and I just..." Dean was loosing his anger. He was loosing his point. He was out of breath, and he couldn't even really remember why he was yelling anymore. All he could remember were those horrible, horrible moments back in that dark alleyway.

Dean let his gaze fall as his voice faded away. His grip loosened and Dean also let his hands fall to his sides. For a moment they just stood there, quietly, very, very close to each other. Cas shifted a little, not closer nor away from Dean, before he spoke.

"You... had to watch me die?" he spoke the words slowly, carefully, and Dean found himself slightly annoyed, that that was what Cas took from his rant.

"Uhm... Well, not exactly you, but yeah, Virgil iced Misha back in the other dimension," Dean said meekly, still not looking at the angel, even if he felt the intense stare on him.

But then Dean heard the one voice he had learned to hate over the few years. The quiet flutter of feathered wigs sounded through the still motel room air, and before Dean could lift his gaze, Cas was gone. Without so much as a simple good bye.

Dean felt like screaming, crying, throwing up and tearing his own skin off all at the same time. He felt to goddamn stupid! How could've he waited any other outcome for this situation? He knew from the beginning, that if he could not keep his mouth shut, this was the result that would follow. Cas would flee in confusion and panic, and most like would never contact the Winchesters again.

Why, why had he held on to any kind of hope, when he all along knew there was none? He was one very stupid man. Dean felt like kicking himself. He should have never said anything, he never should have...

"Hello."

Dean felt like having a heart attack.

"Goddamn it Cas don't do that!" Dean spun around in anger, to stand face to face with Cas who had appeared out of thin air to stand right behind Dean. Cas simply just tilted his head.

"Sorry."

"Where did you even go, anyway?" Dean snarled, trying to calm down the panic that had risen with Cas' exit.

"I went to fix the other dimension," Cas stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Dean furrowed his brow.

"Fix it? How?" but Cas just dismissed it by waving his hand.

"That is not of import right now," Cas paused for a moment before he continued.

"You said... that you have feelings for me?" it was a question but not a question. Cas was looking for a verification, but still it was more of a statement. Dean coughed uncomfortably, and scratched the back of his head.

"Yeah well... Yeah. Cas, we really don't need to talk about this. You know, I think it's best if we just let this go, ok? You don't... You don't have to say anything," Dean explained quickly, looking carefully at Cas, who just again, tilted his head.

"I don't?" Cas asked, and Dean was suddenly very aware that they were standing so close together. The mysterious radiating body heat glowing from Cas was clouding Dean's mind and he found it again very hard to concentrate beyond Cas' thin lips, hovering just out of his reach.

"No... I..." Dean couldn't say anything more. The light that had lit up in the center of the shimmering universe in Cas' eyes when Dean had admitted the long denied stupid, stupid feelings he had for the nerdy little guy, was illuminating Cas' whole form. It was maybe the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. But it was also confusing as hell. What was going on? Why wasn't Cas running off in terror? Why was he so calm? Why was he still so close? What was happening?

Cas stepped a little closer again. He was breathing in sync with Dean, and now, there seemed to be that greater understanding.

"Dean," Cas breathed out, voice low and raspy.

"I find myself... yearning for a physical contact," Cas finished, looking sheepishly at Dean, like asking for a permission. After getting molested daily by Misha, this seemed so absurd that if it were any other situation, Dean would have probably laughed his ass off. But since the situation was what it was, and Dean couldn't really believe that this was happening, he decided to just go with it. His head was swimming. Could this really be happening?

But the knowledge that all this, what ever this was, was very new to Cas, dug its way through Dean's floating thoughts and Dean didn't want to rush the poor guy, even if all he wanted to do was grab Cas and throw the guy on his back on the squeaky uncomfortable motel room bed and follow after.

"Erm... Well, go for it," Dean said welcoming, spreading out his arms, inviting Cas in, trying to ignore the slight awkwardness of the situation.

Dean was expecting a small unsure and awkward kiss on the corner of his mouth, but what he got, was something that for sure didn't help this other wordly weird situation.

Cas reached out one slim and shaky hand, placing it carefully on Dean shoulder. For a moment Cas looked unsure, before a small pleased smile spread on his face.

And then he just stayed like that.

Really, Cas?

Dean rolled his eyes. He didn't want to rush Cas, but after four weeks, even Dean's patience had it's limits.

"For fuck's sake, Cas," Dean huffed, wrapping almost violently his arms around the angel, pressing his lips on Cas'.

**...**

**A/N:** Okay, I know the ending is kinda... Errrrgh, but I promise to explain more in the next chapter, and this is kinda errrgh, because this chapter and the next one were all intended to be just one chapter, but this one just got out of hands, and is even on it's own this is one long-ass chapter, so sorry! But this just means, that you won't have to wait 3 months for the next chapter to come out.


	11. Author's Note

First of all, no, this is not a new chapter, sorry if I got your hopes up, but I have some good news. After an extremely long hiatus, and an awful case of the writer's block, I finally got my Supernatural drive back on, due to watching the 8th season of the show. There is just so much Destiel in there, that it's going to make my little writer's mind explode.

Second of all, due to that new drive, I have decided, that be the mutilated Leviathan Cas God my witness, I am going to finish this story even if it kills me. There is only few more chapters to go, and I can't leave this story like this, or it'll hunt me for the rest of my life. So yes, I am going to finish this. Soon, I hope, but I promise nothing. I have already almost written the whole 11th chap, so if I have the power in me, I should be able to post soon-ish.

But the point of this note is, that don't give up on this story. It will be finished, that I can promise you, and also thank you, because as much as I have to thank the 8th season of Supernatural in encouraging me to write again, I have to thank you, my sweet readers. You keep sending me comments, almost weekly, telling me to get my head out of my ass and finish what I've started. And that's exactly what I plan to do, so thank you so much, all you people, who still like this fic, and keep hoping more of it. You're the people I'm doing this for.

So, thank you, and just... hang in there, for a little while longer.

Cheers, CNLC0rpses.

Ps. Since it's been quite a while from the last time I properly wrote anything, my English is getting a bit rusty, and most likely it will show in the chapters to come, so sorry in advance for that.


End file.
